Raw Precision
by UConn Fan
Summary: Post "The Telling" - Chapter 11, aka 'the chapter that just wouldn't wait . . '
1. Default Chapter

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
"No," she shook her head, her eyes scanning the room for something - *anything*. Was this his idea of a sick joke? "Santa Barbara?" she pleaded.  
  
The moisture continued to pool in his eyes as his head continued to slightly shake, "We never made it."  
  
Her eyes shut before she shot back to the offensive object on his left hand. A spark of anger shot through her. Barely two years and he'd certainly moved on fast enough. It'd been over two years after Danny's death - at least in her memory - and she still felt stings of guilt over his absence. At least she'd known he was dead. Vaughn hadn't known; officially she was just missing. "You certainly moved on fast enough," she snapped and wiped away her eyes.  
  
"Syd," he sighed, "it's not how it looks -"  
  
"It looks like a wedding band," she chuckled as her tears again appeared. "I guess what we had wasn't all that important."  
  
"No, Syd -"  
  
"Please," she stopped him. "My father? My mother? Sloane?"   
  
He looked back at his hands and then shuffled them into his pockets. When they reappeared she noticed that they were naked, as though slipping the gold into his pocket would erase it from her memory. Perhaps they'd never verbalized it, but this was the man she'd been banking on forever with. Now he'd banked on someone else. The anger only brewed deeper. It certainly wasn't her fault she'd been gone for almost two years. Two years wasn't that long anyway, her mind screamed, but he'd moved on and found something better.  
  
"I'm not sure you're ready for this Syd."  
  
"Not ready?" she laughed. "I'm still trying to understand how Will *isn't* dead and how Francie could have been a double! I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that our first, most intimate moment was caught on tape by some sociopath *posing* as my best friend". She angrily wiped away the tears that had disobeyed her fury and fallen to her cheeks. "You have no right to assume how I feel or what I am or am not ready to hear."  
  
"Whether you want to hear this or not, time hasn't stopped what I feel for you Syd. I came here tonight, didn't I?"  
"Yeah," she said as she shook her head with a chuckle that felt bitter to his ears, "you got stuck as my contact. Again. You must really hate me by now."  
  
Solemnly he shook his head, "I could never hate you."  
  
"Well you obviously didn't love me," she flippantly remarked.  
  
"Damn it Syd, it's been -"   
  
"Nearly two years, I heard you the first time," she snapped.   
  
"Maybe I have the advantage here because I remember what happened, but don't you dare discredit how much this hurts me too," he warned her. "My god Syd," he wiped his hand over his face, a thin band of pale skin was visible on his left hand from where he had removed his wedding band. "It's been so long since I could just look up and see you enter a room…"  
  
"Have you buried me?"   
  
"No," he shook his head. "Your Father and I refused to until we had a body. We still thought you were gone. Will and Dixon accused us of being in denial…they were probably right."  
  
"How is Will even alive? I was sure he was dead. And you said you came back. What did you come back from? What's going on? You're scaring me."  
  
"I . . . We were supposed to go on vacation . . . " he wiped his face again and pinched the bridge of his nose, making a conscience effort to keep his left hand from sight. "The house was a mess Syd . . . They were able to save Will, but Francie was long gone. And so were you. We thought they'd kidnapped you . . . We waited for a letter, a threat, ransom, whatever. Ever since that night . . . It was the worst night of my life. "  
  
"Look at me damn it," she hissed as his green eyes finally met hers. For the first time since she'd known him, she couldn't read those green orbs. That was far more terrifying than anything else he'd told her in the life-altering moments since he'd entered. "Who did this to me?"  
  
"You don't think if I'd known I would have found you?"  
  
"I don't know," she sincerely sighed as she shook her head. One of the last thoughts she'd had was that they were going to go on what would be the first of a lifetime of vacations. That was now obviously a bust. Along with just about everything else she'd finally accepted in her life. "My father."  
  
"Jack's surviving," he shrugged. "I don't expect you to believe this right now, but your… disappearance was the hardest thing either one of us has ever gone though," he conceded as he made a subtle adjustment to remove his gaze from her eyes to a spot on her forehead.   
  
"Why did they send you and not him?"  
  
His chuckle was forced, bitter and stiff to her tired ears. "When you . . . disappeared, the CIA gave me bereavement time. Everyone kept saying they were sorry, like I'd lost my wife instead of my former agent. Which at the time seemed more appropriate," he trailed off with a further inspection of the floor. "They asked me to come back … Dixon… Will… Kendall… Devlin. When your father asked, I couldn't say no."  
  
"This is a nightmare," she muttered, resting her head in her hands. Even with her eyes closed there was no sanctuary, just the blank look Vaughn gave her when she hugged him and the unease at which he seemed to slip from her arms. What she wanted was to go home, back before either of her best friends were doubles or her former handler-then boyfriend was married to someone else. That home no longer existed. Briefly she pondered whether she was left to the same fate as her Mother, a nomad cursed forever by Rambaldi, perhaps losing everyone she loved for reasons beyond her control. "So what now?" she looked up, this time she was the one who chose not to meet his eyes. "Witness Protection?" she suggested. With all she had to deal with, the program wasn't her worse option.  
  
"No," he shook his head. He pushed to his feet and paced the small area behind his chair. "I have orders to bring you back to L.A. I assume your Father will want to see you, and I know Kendall will want have you undergo an extensive debrief. Therapy to bring back your memories, find out where you've been."  
  
"Where am I going to stay?" she pushed hair out of her face and looked at her expectantly.  
  
"For the time being you'll be in protective custody, until the NSA, CIA and FBI are satisfied with their investigation."  
  
"They think I'm a traitor."  
  
"No one's making any accusations Sydney, but we are interested in knowing where you've been and what information you've acquired since you disappear."  
  
"You don't think I'm a traitor, do you?"  
  
"No," he wiped the bottom of his nose, "I never considered it an option."  
  
This time when she stood she noticed how he took a slight step back from her, burning her soul. "You should put your wedding ring back on," she quietly instructed. "I don't think your wife would appreciate it. As he rolled it up his finger he sighed her name. "No," she stopped. "I don't want to know right now."   
  
"It's not Alice," he softly offered, as though that would cure all her aches and pains.   
  
"Please," she pleaded. The knife twisted in his heart as he watched the tears once again reappear in her soft brown eyes. "I have so many questions… I'm really tired right now," she explained. "Please. I'd like to go back to Los Angeles."  
  
"Sure," he sighed. Silently he followed her out of the room, cautious not to touch her as he led her to the awaiting car.   
  
TBC (maybe? you decide)   
  
AN: Am I the first? (please?!). I don't know, it's 1:37 as I edit this and the ep ended at 11 . . With the 1/2hr I spent with my Mom getting her ready for bed & the other 1/2hr I spent SCREAMING at my TV, I think I'm doing okay . . . . Does this suck? Not a clue what I'm doing or where this is going. Don't count out The Lightkeeper or Trying Normal (although it's more like trying depression after last night) but I'm going to need to find all my good ol' post-Super Bowl tapes to watch . . . I'm so pissed at Vaughn . . . . Poor Syd . . . Anyway, on with the show.   
Oh, yeah, I wrote this RIGHT after the ep, so if it's disjointed (or all-around horrible), let me know. Should I go on? Ugh, Reviews, PLEASE!  
  
Yeah - Yankees lost two in a row BUT I'm the air hockey champion of my half sister's birthday party (I whipped everybody's butt - not bad for a 4'7" above the knee amputee!!)  
So is this angsty enough? because *I* was in tears at the end . . . . Sorry this is so short. Once again, it was between 11-1:30 that I wrote this. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.   
Two chapters in less then 12hrs! That's *got* to be a record (where *is* this story coming from? lol)  
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Los Angeles was far too bright for her as they landed, particularly in contrast to the Hong Kong alley she last awoke in. The airplane seat was surprisingly comfortable under her sore body. Turning her head she spotted Vaughn across the aisle, working quickly on a laptop, oblivious to her attention. This was worse then before SD-6 had gone down, she quickly decided. Back then she had hoped his feelings were as they appeared to be, but hadn't yet known what it was like to be with him. Now she knew, and now he'd moved past her. For all she knew he was madly in love with his wife - it pained her to consider him loving any woman more than her - with a child. A normal life. Once again it was without her. So what if it wasn't Alice, it was most likely some other saccharine sweet, well-intentioned petite blonde. Or worse yet it was a tall, brunette doe eyed government employee. She wasn't sure which was the worse option.  
  
Somewhere during her stroll through her dead dreams he had realized she was awake. Quickly he shut the laptop and leaned across the aisle to scoop her attention. "Hey," he greeted softly with just a trace of a smile. If she shut her eyes she could still remember being on the receiving end of that grin, as they lay in bed smitten with one another. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Unable to meet his gaze, she shut her eyes. "My head hurts."  
  
"I could get you something -"  
  
"I'm fine," she assured him. The physical pain was enviable to the numbness she felt inside. Everything she'd grown to know and love had now been completely invalidated.   
  
"Syd, there's no need for you to have a headache -"  
  
"I'm alright, really."  
  
Even though he obviously didn't believe her, he nodded and readjusted himself comfortably. With a glance tossed back at him over the aisle, she hoped she sounded casual as she spoke, "So do you have any kids?"  
  
"Syd . . . "  
  
"What? I'm trying to learn everything I've missed."  
  
"No," he sighed and studied his finger. "No kids. Syd, whatever you think of me… the CIA is not likely to go easy on you, despite what influence your Father and I have. You have to know I'm on your side through this."  
  
"My ally," she repeated his long-ago words as her eyes remained fixed on an invisible point in the distance. She'd always known he was, even when she didn't like him she sensed that he was trustworthy. When her eyes shut she was surprised that the image was not one of them but of Francie, falling to the floor as the last of the bullets hit her. "I killed Francie," she whispered.  
  
"She was going to kill you if you hadn't. We thought she *had* killed you."  
  
"Francie… she was my best friend since college and I killed her. I killed Danny. I ruined Will's life," she finished softly. While he'd apologized for his ill-timed words, and she was certain he hadn't meant them, the weight of how true they were still brought her down.   
  
In his seat he watched helplessly. This was a woman he loved - still loved - but had finally learned to live without. Now she was back again, scared, confused and needing him more desperately then ever before. There was nothing easy or painless about this situation. He'd spent countless late nights in bed - alone and with his wife - staring at the ceiling, contemplating her return. A small cloud of guilt hung over his head after his marriage, even after Dixon, Will and even Jack Bristow had given him their blessing. To compensate for his guilt, Vaughn had imagined that she was out there, that she'd finally escaped this hellish life and was happy. Sometimes he even imagined *she* was married with children. Now she was back and he was left to feel the guilt.  
  
"We should go," he realized as the plane gracefully glided onto the runway. The nod she gave him was barely a tilt of her head as he followed her out of the plane. When she spotted two black government issued cars on the runway, she sent him a look that broke his heart. "Agent Gibson is going to take you in to headquarters. I'll meet you there Syd," he assured her.   
  
"You don't have to do that," she softly dismissed his concern.   
  
"I'm going to be there," he assured her, hoping she heard him as Agent Gibson led her into the back seat of his car.  
  
Once in his car he closely trailed Gibson's car, fumbling for his cell phone. His thumb pressed hard against the 2 on the phone, connecting quickly to his cell phone's memory as he put the phone to his ear. As he'd expected, a cheery voice greeted him on the answering machine. With one ear he listened as he kept an eagle eye on Gibson's car. "Hi, you've reached the Vaughn residence. Leave us your name and your number and we'll get back to you as soon as we can! Thanks!"  
  
A loud, painful beep zapped his ear as he cringed. "Hey, it's me. I'm not sure where you are… I'm sure you know this, but they found Syd," he sighed softly into the phone. "I'm back in L.A. Hopefully I'll see you there. If not… well, I'm not sure when I'll be home," he conceded. "If you need something, just call me. Oh, and please call Dr. Orange about Donny's vet appointment. I obviously wasn't in town to take him. Just reschedule the appointment," he instructed. "I'll see you either at headquarters or at home. Bye," he said as he pressed off and tossed the phone back in his pocket.  
  
The next time he saw Sydney she wore a pained look of confusion as she obediently followed Gibson into headquarters, either not sensing his presence or fully ignoring him. He stood in the middle of headquarters, searching for Marshall or Carrie, Weiss or Will, hell even Kendall, as Gibson got Sydney situated in her cell. No one he knew well was visible, and certainly no one he wanted to talk to. A tap on his shoulder whizzed him around to face an apprehensive looking Gibson.  
  
"Agent Bristow would like to see you sir."  
  
"Thanks," he slapped the younger agent on the back and quickly made his way to the holding cells. His strides were long and his steps were as quick as he could muster without gaining suspicion. After her disappearance they'd practically interrogated him about their relationship and what he might have known. Now that she was back, good or bad, he wanted to help her. Drawing attention once again to their relationship, particularly now that he was married, would not aid him in doing that.  
  
The guard let him into the cell, where Sydney was sitting on the cot staring at her hands. They'd been kind enough to give her a pad, a pen and a mattress, sheets and pillows for the bed. Still it was a poor substitute for the lush, comfortable environment she deserved to be in. When the door shut and the guard disappeared down the hall, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes yet again.  
  
"I have a scar."  
  
"What?" his forehead creased as he slowly stepped towards her. Slowly she pulled to her feet and slightly lifted her shirt. Then her finger traced the newly found scar. "Did you -"  
  
"It's not from fighting Francie," she explained. "This doesn't look like a combat scar anyway."  
  
"No, it doesn't," he softly agreed.   
  
"The guard said they're going to take me to medical services soon."  
  
"They will," he nodded. "They'll want to see that. We have no idea where you've been Syd, maybe this will help us figure it out."  
  
"What day is it?"  
  
"October fourth."  
  
"2005," she supplemented as he nodded. "I'm thirty now," she realized. A voice in the back of her head wondered if she should have begun worrying about her biological clock by now.   
  
"Yeah, you are," his voice was gravelly over her soul.   
  
"Vaughn," she brushed hair out of her face. "I appreciate that you're here to help me, please don't think that I don't," she assured him. The truth was she was too tired, overwhelmed and numbed to fight with him over all the changes that now pained her. "I'm going to have to go to medical service soon, and I'd like to see my father before I do."  
  
"I'll have someone contact him."  
  
"Someone contact him? You haven't informed my father that I've been found?"  
  
"We didn't want to bother him before we were sure it was really you."  
  
"Bother him? I'm his daughter, I'm sure he'd want to be informed immediately -"  
  
"I'm sure he would too Syd, but I didn't want to upset him earlier then necessary. We've had a lot of false leads, good and bad, before you showed up. I made the judgment call not to upset him, not to further jeopardize his health for unnecessary reasons. As his daughter I'd think you'd agree with me," he icily informed her.  
  
"His health?"  
  
"Jack's sick."  
  
"Sick? What do you mean sick? My father hasn't been sick a day in his life!"  
  
"Syd, I'm not sure I'm the one who should be -"  
  
"Damn it Vaughn, tell me what's going on."  
  
With a wave of his hand he silenced her before he barked, "Jack's dying."  
  
A/N: Hey, is that a cliffie?! lol, if it is, I think it's among my first. Poor Jack - I love him, really :) But my mind has it's own life today it seems . . . Hey, not sure when they'll pick up again, but it'll probably be 2005 when the start the season, and I chose 10/4 because it'll be my 20th birthday (scary, but true). Hey, happy Cinco de Mayo (and happy 5th birthday to my half sister! - not that she's likely to ever read this, but still). Okay, please R&R. I'm not entirely sure where this is going . . . Reviews are the wind in my sails! 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.   
Three chapters in barely then 24hrs! That's *got* to be a record (where *is* this story coming from? lol)  
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He'd mumbled that he was going to get her something to drink, once again leaving her in solitude. She could still vividly remember visiting her mother there, before her mother betrayed the CIA. This cell was the last place she'd ever imagine that she'd end up, not even in the wildest of her nightmares. Everything had been going so well recently (if your idea of recently is nearly two years ago, a bitter voice behind her mind pointed out) that she should have known something was going to go wrong. Perhaps if her car had broken down or Francie's restaurant had a slow down in customers, but this was a bit beyond a few small things going wrong to balance out everything that had been going so well.  
  
The look of discomfort hadn't left his eyes when he reappeared. "Here," he solemnly handed her a blue plastic cup. "It's orange juice."  
  
His eyes followed her as she took a small sip and then glanced back at him, "It's lukewarm."  
  
"That's how you like it," he reminded.  
  
"Yeah," she looked down at her hand. "It is."   
  
"They won't let you eat before you go to medical services -"  
  
"I'm not hungry," she stopped him as she took another sip. "My father?"  
  
"Jack should be here soon," he assured her.   
  
"Thank you," she muttered in such a tone that she had flashbacks to bozo hair, bloody mouths and pens void of ink.   
  
"Don't do this to me Syd," he urged as her stony eyes met him. Instead of chocolate they reminded him of a rock that had gotten lost among the debris of what had been her life. "This is a nightmare for me too."   
  
She had to bite her tongue from saying something she knew she'd regret. Deep down she wanted to inflict on him all the pain she was feeling right now, the confusion and the nightmare that was now her life. More than that, in the places of her heart and soul that would always belong to him, she wanted him to fix it all. To take away her pain and to set things right again. He'd been able to do it without much effort for a while now. Did he do such things for his wife now?  
  
In that instant, sitting on the cot as he stood half a room away from her - it looked like half a galaxy to her and felt like even more - she decided the word 'wife' was her least favorite of the English language. It was a term that ranked right up there with the name Arvin Sloane in her book. Right next to the beloved term of mother. Both were terms she was near certain she'd never be.   
  
The sound of the gates clicking open echoed through the air before either could speak. Vaughn knew the instant that her eyes landed on her father, as her gaze grew more confused and the tears pooled even further in her eyes. Half a stride later he was at the door to the cell, holding it open as the guard wheeled in Jack Bristow, wheelchair and all.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"I'm going to go -" the younger agent started to excuse himself as Jack held up a hand.  
  
"Stay Agent Vaughn," he commanded. To her slight relief he sounded just as strong as when she'd last spoken to him. "I'm okay honey," he assured her with the closest thing he had to a smile. "We thought you were dead," he said seconds later with a straight face.  
  
"Vaughn told me," she nodded. "Dad, I'm so sorry."  
  
"Sydney, before you talk to Kendall I need you to tell me what *exactly* is the last thing you remember."  
  
"Vaughn had dropped me off… we were supposed to go Santa Barbara, and he was going to pick me up after his debrief," she recalled as the younger man looked away. "Francie was there, I got some ice cream and we were talking. I checked my voice mail and there was a call from Will saying that Francie was the double… I don't remember exactly how it happened," she was unable to look at either of them as she studied her legs, suddenly growing chilly in her sparse clothing. "Francie and I were fighting. Tossing each other against windows and mirrors and doors… Fighting for this damn gun," she sniffled at the memory, still fresh in her head. "She tossed me against this mirror. I got the gun. I killed her, I killed Francie," she covered her mouth to stifle her cries. "I found Will in the bath tub while we were fighting. He looked dead, I thought… I passed out. Francie and Will, I thought they were both dead and I just passed out in my bedroom."  
  
"That's the last thing you remember before you woke up in Hong Kong?" her Father questioned as she nodded. "They're going to take you up to medical services in a few minutes. Depending how late you finish there, they'll either take you directly to Kendall or back here to rest."  
  
Before she could ask again what was wrong with him, the guard reappeared with a wheelchair for her and another guard to wheel her Father out. "I'll come see you when you're done," Jack promised her. All Sydney had the energy to do was nod and sit down in the wheelchair as was instructed. Her heart dropped as she passed by Vaughn and his conscience effort to keep his gaze pasted to the floor.  
  
To her slight relief, her doctor was Dr. Nichols, someone she remembered and yet didn't know more about her life in the last two years than she did. He was still cordial and gentle, as he was years before, when there were questions over what was in the water from Taipei and whether or not she and Vaughn were sick. That seemed like a lifetime ago. For her it was merely a few months, for everyone else it was a handful of years. They were pleasant but distant to her there as she underwent a battery of tests, from blood and DNA being taken to an ocular scan. As they poked and prodded her, Sydney desperately wanted to ask what was wrong with her father - if anyone in the CIA would know, surely it would be medical services - but restrained herself.   
  
"Why don't you rest for a little while Agent Bristow, before you talk to a therapist," Dr. Nichols suggested as one of the orderlies wheeled her into a familiar room. The last time she'd been in the room Vaughn had been there, her angel in a white cotton T-shirt. Alone, she thanked him and gently turned down his offer to bring her some food. The last thing she wanted was food.  
  
The ceiling was even less fascinating then she remembered it being. Absently she traced the new scar and struggled to understand everything. People don't just disappear for nearly two years, she was sure of that, but she had no reasonable explanation. There were so many questions racing in her head. Personally, the most important were the developments with her father and Vaughn. Still, she had so much more to find out - what happened to her Mother? Sloane? Sark? What had happened to Dixon and Marshall? Where was Will? Did he still hate her? Was anything at all how she remembered it to be?  
  
Even in her confusion, she was comfortable with the knowledge that some things about her would never change. Whatever she had been doing, wherever she had been, she was certain that she had not willingly betrayed her government. Her father was still on her side, which was one thing that hadn't changed since his distant days of her youth. Lastly, Michael Vaughn was still the man she loved, the only man she could imagine a life with, regardless of whether he returned it or not. Someone had once told her that if you loved someone, set him or her free - if they returned to you, they were yours, if they didn't, they never were. Time would be the ultimate test of their relationship.  
  
Somehow she'd slipped into a dreamless slumber. There weren't even nightmares, just black holes in her mind. The next thing she recalled was Dr. Nichols sitting across from her, softly calling her name to rouse her from her slumber. "How are you feeling Agent Bristow?"  
  
"What time is it?" she asked as she sat up and brushed hair from her face.  
  
"It's almost 7:00pm. I'm sorry your tests took so long. However, we have confirmed your identity," he smiled. All she could offer was a weak half-twitch of her lips, wishing she felt the same way. "Your father brought some clothes for you to change into if you'd prefer."  
  
"Yes, thank you," she said as he handed her a small duffel that she vaguely recognized to be her own.   
  
"Would you like to eat or would you prefer to go directly to the counselor after you change?"  
  
"I'm not hungry," she assured him as she added on a soft thank you.  
  
"An orderly will be by in a few minutes to wheel you up to the counselor."  
  
"I can walk -"  
  
"It's protocol," he apologetically spoke. Another nod of her head and he disappeared to allow her to change. Far passed modesty, she was undaunted by the surveillance camera she knew hung in the corner. The promise of her favorite jeans and softest shirt were far too appealing for her to care who saw her half-naked. In this line of business she'd worn a lot less in front of many less savory characters.  
  
A red-faced orderly appeared seconds later as he waited for her to sit in the wheelchair. In a squeaky voice he told her to leave her bag, since that'd be where she'd be spending the night. They went up a floor in the elevator before he rolled her in through a naked office door. He mumbled that someone would be by to bring her back to medical services as he disappeared. With the young man gone she stood and sat down on the sofa. The office was certainly not Dr. Barnet - she'd proudly proclaimed her title and credentials on a nameplate on her door. Plus the office was devoid of any personal items, sans a diploma on an otherwise bare wall and a New York Mets Beanie Baby on the desk.   
  
The door clicked open as she adjusted her posture and stopped her inspection. With her eyes on the door she watched as the woman walked in. Sydney wondered if the CIA had any male therapists as the woman approached. Although she estimated the counselor to be shorter then she was, the redhead was by no means petite. She wore a gray sweater and black slacks that made pains to hide her voluptuous curves. The eyes that shone back at her were warm but distant and a soft shade of gray. The woman stepped up to Sydney and extended a hand, her face unreadable. "Agent Bristow, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Dr. Becky Vaughn."  
  
Bucking manners she was tempted to not shake the woman's hand as the world crashed out from under her for the third time in less then two days. If she was seeing things correctly, this was Vaughn's *wife*. There was no doubt in her mind when she spotted the gold wedding band and matching diamond ring on her left ring finger along with the recollection that her diploma read Rebecca Cox. Michael Vaughn had married a shrink - a *company* shrink. All she needed was for someone to tell her the sky was really made out of cotton candy and everything would be in pieces under her stilettos.  
  
"Dr. Vaughn," she struggled to curl the words over her tongue. "I don't want to be rude, but would it be at all possible for me to see another therapist?"   
  
"Agent Bristow, I'm here to help you," the redhead smiled at her. "You could be assigned another therapist, but you should know that Michael requested that I be the one to see you."  
  
Instinctively her eyes shut at her casual mention of 'Michael'. "Maybe you could tell me what's going on," she suggested to the redhead.  
  
"Perhaps you could do the same thing for me," her smile widened as she took out her clipboard and pen  
  
"They gave me an ocular scan in medical services. Why?"  
  
"I think Michael and your Father will be able to update you on that after we're through here," she suggested. Sydney looked down at her hands and bit back her tears. Questions rushed to her mind. From the momentous - when had they married? - To the miniscule - how was Donovan? Had his hockey game improved? This woman, who bore no resemblance to either Sydney or Alice, had taken her place in his life. Briefly she wished that he'd gone back to Alice, at least she could have consoled herself that he returned to the safe haven that his former girlfriend offered.  
  
"I really don't want to talk," she massaged her temples.  
  
"I understand you've been through a lot Agent Bristow, but you should know that the sooner we're done here, the sooner you'll be free to go home."  
  
The woman's attempt to be soothing caused a bitter laugh to jolt from her. "Home? I don't have a home anymore Dr. Vaughn."  
  
"Surely you have friends. Your Father?"  
  
"Everyone thought I was dead - thinks I'm dead," she shrugged. "My Father and I are not close Dr. Vaughn, and I'm sure it mentions in that file of yours that we never have been. Especially now that he's… sick, I couldn't dare impose on him," she testily answered. "I had two best friends. One turned out to be a double created to sabotage my entire life. The other one I thought was dead but apparently isn't, not that it matters because I've basically ruined his life and everything he ever wished for. I've loved three men in my life and all have either died or left me. Danny's dead because of my foolish decision to enter what I *thought* was the CIA at nineteen, and I killed Noah because he turned out to be an assassin who was going to kill me if I didn't kill him."  
  
"You said there were three men. What happened to the third?"  
  
All the willpower she had was barely enough to stop her from saying that Dr. Vaughn was married to him. Sydney wondered briefly if this woman had read her file at *all* or if she was just that naive. "I'm tired Dr. Vaughn, could we maybe continue this tomorrow?" she requested as she looked down at her hands.   
  
"I'd like to get this through now Agent Bristow. I'm sure you would as well, so you could be free to leave."  
  
"I'm never going to be free to leave," she muttered.  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
Sydney looked up and directly met Becky's gray eyes. Gray had always been one of her least favorite colors, and now she knew why. "Do you know what it's like to think you have everything you want? That everything is going great, that things are going to be okay? Then before you can even completely enjoy what you have, the people in your life, everything you love is taken from you? That's happened to me twice. Two times I finally had a man I loved, an honest relationship, good friends, a job where I thought I was doing good… Both times it's been taken from me. Both times because of Arvin Sloane and this damn prophet who's been dead for over two hundred years!"  
  
"So you believe Arvin Sloane had something to do with your disappearance?"  
  
"I killed his clone, ruined one of his masterpieces. My mother told me I was the woman Rambaldi prophesized. I didn't believe it, but he obviously did. Who else would do this to me?"  
  
"Surely after so many years in espionage you have many enemies Agent Bristow."  
  
"None as vindictive or self-serving as Arvin Sloane."  
  
"Yes," she grinned, "I suspect that's the case. Your results from medical service show that you have proteins consistent with induced amnesia. I'd like to schedule an appointment to help you start recovering your memories. I'm going to warn you Agent Bristow, it's going to be painful and it's going to take time, but I feel if we work at it we might be able to regain a majority of your memories."  
  
"Okay," she agreed. If Vaughn wanted her to see this particular therapist - even if she *was* his wife - she'd give it a shot. Hell if she could work with Arvin Sloane for years, this would be child's play.  
  
"I'm sure you're going to want to go see your father and Michael. I'll have someone wheel you up to the debriefing. Director Kendall will be expecting my initial report in a week, so I'd like to see you again before then."  
  
"Sure," she nodded. "I'll make an appointment before they release me," she promised.  
  
"Thank you Agent Bristow," she shook the brunette's hand. "It was a pleasure to be able to meet you."  
  
Silently Sydney forced a smile, relieved when the orderly arrived with her wheelchair. Without a word she got into the wheelchair and let out a sigh of relief as the orderly brought her up to a familiar conference room. As they neared she stopped him and insisted on walking in on her own, thanking him for his services. Stepping through the door five heads whipped around to look at her. As expected Kendall, Vaughn and her father were there, but to her surprise so were Marshall and Dixon.  
  
"Agent Bristow, thank you for joining us," Kendall directed her to sit next to Vaughn in an unexpectedly sincere voice. "How are you feeling?"  
  
The truth was she was confused and every aspect of her felt drained. Still, she knew that wasn't the answer Kendall would want, and she had been gone too long to tread on his bad side. "I'm fine," she assured him as she sunk into the seat next to Vaughn. The look her former handler shot her relayed that he knew she wasn't all right, and she suspected her father was sending her the same silent message.  
  
"Well Agent Bristow, it's been an eventful two years without you. I assume your chock full of questions, but you're probably more interested in some sleep."  
  
"Yes, I would," she agreed. Truthfully she'd do anything to sidestep a Kendall interrogation in her state of confusion and exhaustion.  
  
"We'll be keeping you in custody for your safety until we clear up a bit more of this mess," he explained as she nodded. The excuse was a thin one to her but she knew better than to fight. There were too many questions *she* had before she could imagine answering any of his.  
  
"I'll bring her back to medical services," Dixon offered as she smiled thankfully at him.  
  
"Eat tomorrow morning Miss Bristow and then we'll start talking," Kendall commanded. A slight nod of her head and Dixon began to wheel her out.  
  
"So are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked in a low voice as he pushed her down the nearly empty CIA halls.  
  
"It's been two years Syd, we had given up hope," he conceded as he reached over to press the elevator button. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Confused," she confessed. "Like someone's guinea pig, but I *am* going to find out what happened to me and they *are* going to pay."  
  
"I'm glad you haven't changed," he smiled as relief surged through her. At least he hadn't changed.   
  
"How are the kids?"  
  
"They're good, getting big. When you're cleared you'll have to come over for dinner, meet Sarah."  
  
"Sarah?" she teased good naturedly, the first legitimate smile crossing her features since this horror had begun.  
  
"You're going to like her Syd, and I know Diane would."  
  
Soberly she asked, "You think I'll be cleared?"  
  
"I know you will be Syd," he assured her.   
  
"Does Will hate me?"   
  
Dixon shook his head. "No one hates you Syd. I'm sure they'll let you see him soon."  
  
The assurance did nothing to calm her soul. One of her last, most vivid memories was stumbling upon him apparently dead in her bathtub, in a scene far too close to how she discovered Danny a handful of years earlier. Needing some levity, she changed the subject. "How's Marshall been? I've missed so much."  
  
"Marshall's married."  
  
"No!" her eyes widened and her grin grew as he nodded. "Carrie?"  
  
"She's now Mrs. Carrie Flinkman."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Almost a year now. I'm sure Marshall will tell you all about it."  
  
"How long is it going to take him to get it all out?"   
  
"Marriage hasn't changed him much at all, so make sure you clear a few hours," he smiled as they shared a comfortable laugh.   
  
"No one's telling me what's wrong with my father."  
  
"Jack's a strong man Sydney, a good agent, you and I both know that."  
  
"Vaughn said he was dying," she spoke softly.  
  
"Agent Vaughn's a good man. One day, whether your Father admits it or not, Jack expects him to fill his shoes."  
  
"He's a good CIA agent," she soberly agreed.  
  
Dixon cast her a cautious, sympathetic glance. "If things had been different Syd, I think Jack would have expected him to fill his shoes in more ways than just at the CIA."  
  
"Two years," she shook her head. "How could I just *lose* two years?"  
  
"I don't know yet Syd, but we'll find out, then we'll bring them to justice."  
  
"Medical services gave me an ocular scan," she recalled. "They were looking for proteins, they wanted to see if I was a double."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How is that possible? The machine was destroyed."  
  
"There's reason to believe that your mother, Sark and Sloane compiled enough information to reassemble the machine from the Intel they collected. We don't have any definite proof, but we can't be too cautious."  
  
"What happened to all of them? Is Sark still in our custody?"  
  
"As far as the three of them are concerned, it's a long, drawn out story that is definitely not suitable bedtime story material," he smiled gently at her as they arrived at medical services. "Eat something soon Syd, Kendall means what he says," he advised as she nodded. "I'll come by tomorrow, hopefully before you go into a debriefing."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, feeling the tears pool in her eyes as she hugged her former partner. Dixon was the first person she'd encountered since her reappearance that made her feel like she still easily fit into his life. "I want to meet Sarah and see the kids once I get out of here."  
  
"I can't wait," he smiled at her, helping her onto the cot before he left her.  
  
The quiet of the room did nothing to sooth her nerves or lull her into sleep. For an unbearable amount of time - reasonably she knew it was less then an hour - she lay there. They had stripped her of her jewelry so she didn't even have her watch to play with. What had happened to her father? If Sloane was involved in any way - and she had no evidence to conclude that he *wasn't* involved - she would save up all her energy to hunt him down and lynch him. Perhaps he had nothing to do with her little disappearing act, but her entire soul still blamed the tiny man for the destruction of her world. Maybe Arvin Sloane had some internal alarm that rang anytime she neared true happiness and he intuitively had to ruin it. Since making people miserable was his occupation of choice, it would be no great surprise.  
  
Please be my father, she silently prayed to whatever controlling force was up there as the door clicked open. Unwillingly - she really *was* tired - her eyes opened as she struggled to sit up. Her fingers moved her hair from her face and wiped the sleep out of her eyes.   
  
Her visitor looked more suited for the role of anxious canary than she did. They stood in silence for a moment before her unwelcome visitor broke it, "Hi."  
  
"Vaughn."   
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A/N: Okay, check this theory out. My sister watched Alias last night (finally - I was DYING not being able to talk to Meg about it) and she said that it looks like Sydney's belly buttons been sewn up. How's THAT theory? Going back, it looks like Meg's right. Oh, yeah, and she says I shouldn't be mad at Vaughn - NOT likely!   
Oh, yeah - you guys are AMAZING! So many reviews it blows my mind! I'm glad I can help some of the post-ep uneasiness. Please let me know what you think. I've got more coming.   
Duh - I don't put words in italics because the format I use won't let me. Plus I don't name my chapters because, well, I just don't. I run spell-check & grammar-check on everything I post, but I don't have a beta on the grounds of the fact that well, I don't have one and I'm probably not patient enough for one. Plus the computer says I need to capitalize words after the ("..."), so I do. Oh, yeah, and anyone else who's birthday is October 4th rocks :) Okay, anyway, off to post another 3am chapter (probably because I was asleep at 7 and missed the stupid Celtics-Nets game!) 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.   
Seriously, if you hate this or hate something, let me know. I'm doing my best here.   
DISCLAIMER: DUH! Do I LOOK like I own these people? Would I DO that to you guys? c'mon! I love all my reviewers & all of the members of the Alias/Alias fanfic community, *I* wouldn't have forced you guys to wait MONTHS after the end of "The Telling"! (Although I do think JJ's a brilliant, fantastic genius - evil in some aspects, but absolutely brilliant). Alas, if JJ Abrams or his goonies or out there, I bow down and own absolutely *nothing*. Go ahead, sue me. All you'll get is a bunch of UConn stuff, a few old left prosthesises and a lot of stuffed animals & video tapes (mostly *of* Alias, X-Files & UConn games) and some books. Really, seriously, I'm seventeen and the economy sucks thus employment is hard to find (I can't be a waitress, I'm too short to be a cashier and seemingly no bookstore within a 50 mile radius is hiring) so it's not worth any of our trouble. Everything is JJ's, ABC's, Bad Robots, etc.   
Oh, yeah - Dream Writer 4 Life, Becky Vaughn was named after you :) I know it's horrible to imagine someone coming between S&V, BUT look at the bright side, I married you off to *Vaughn*! (Albeit briefly, let's be real, these two crazy kids belong together).   
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"Vaughn," she sighed his name again. "Kendall basically ordered me to bed."  
  
"Can I sit?" he asked and then took a seat on the bed across from her without waiting her response.   
  
Sydney got comfortable on the mattress as her heart dropped. He couldn't even look at her now. Before they could just look at one another for so long and be happy. Even before the Alliance had gone down, a simple glance from him could make her smile for a week. His green eyes had been the most beautiful things she'd ever seen, even when they were spawning his fury at her. Now he was here for who knew what reason, but she knew she wasn't in the mood for a heart-to-heart or to help him get another promotion.  
  
"Are you going to have enough pillows and blankets?" he softly asked, still not looking at her as she nodded.  
  
"I'm fine," she assured him.   
  
"It doesn't have to be like this Syd," he sighed. "Don't make us adversaries. All I want to do is help you."  
  
"If you wanted to help you should have found me two years ago."  
  
"You don't think I tried? Don't you think that I did everything in my power to find you?" he snapped. "Jesus Syd, that was the worst day of my life. Every single day I sit there and I think of what I could have done differently that night. I would give *anything* to have been able to go back and go in to the house with you that night, to give you back up. You're still the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing that I think of when I go to sleep. Every *day* Sydney, I relive that night. In my mind I walk into your apartment and I can still see Will in that bathtub and Francie dead and you're just *gone*. The place was a damn disaster and you were nowhere to be seen. You have no idea how many horrible scenarios have run through my head."  
  
"What about me? I wake up and suddenly *two* years have gone by and apparently everyone's better because I'm not around."  
  
"Better? You think I'm *better* because you haven't been in my life?" his eyes widened and he asked the question with utter amazement.   
  
"I don't know what to think," she sighed, massaging her forehead again. "I just want my life back."  
  
"Your Father, Dixon and I, we'll get you through whatever Kendall puts you through and you'll have it back Syd."  
  
"No, I won't," she shook her head and chuckled sardonically. "The life I want back . . . . It doesn't exist anymore."   
  
"You can start again -"  
  
"I've already done that more times in a lifetime then anyone should have to," she stopped him.   
  
"I'm not giving up on you Syd."  
  
"It's a little late for that, isn't it?" her words were clipped as her hard eyes made a pointed dart to his left hand.   
  
"You're beautiful Syd, but martyrdom really doesn't suit you."  
  
"What do you want me to do? Send you a wedding gift? How many years late will it be?"  
  
His green eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Three weeks. Is that what you want to know Syd, that I've been married for three weeks?"  
  
No, she thought, what she *wanted* to know was that he wasn't married at all. No body, no burial, no certainty of death. If she'd been in his shoes, Sydney knew she wouldn't have given up. Even after Danny, even with a body and a burial and certainty of death, she'd waited. What she'd had with Danny had paled in comparison to the relationship she'd briefly shared with Vaughn, and she'd just as well assume that their relationship made whatever he had with Becky look like child's play. Not that she didn't want him happy, with all her heart and soul she did, but in her mind they were still in love.  
  
"In Hong Kong, you said you've come back . . To explain . . . You left the CIA?" her eyes widened at the question, fighting back the tears she still felt pool in her eyes. Sydney didn't like crying but that didn't seem to stop the tears from nonetheless arriving.   
  
"After all the leads went dry . . . I can't tell you how long it was Syd," he sighed. "Eventually the CIA forced me into bereavement leave. They had me coming in once a week to see a therapist," he conceded. Becky, her mind rang, that was how she met him. How absolutely convenient for the CIA. "They all started giving up hope . . . It was hell Syd, walking back in there and to watch people act like you were dead. After a couple of months only a handful of people thought you still had a chance, that you were still out there, waiting to be found . . . There were all these ridiculous rumors that you'd gone to work for your Mother," he shook his head and rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of the painful memories. "I was in the apartment that night, I was with *you* that night Syd, and I knew that. Anyone who knew you knew you'd never do that. Still, it got to the point where even Dixon and Will told us we should have a memorial service, something . . . Your Father and I just couldn't," he voice was low and strained as he continued to shake his head. "Even if some small part of us accepted that you were dead . . .If there wasn't a burial, a headstone, then we didn't have to accept it, you could still, maybe, one day . . . " he paused to wipe his nose. "Then . . . Then I get this phone call a few days ago. Four years to the day after I met you Syd, after my heart stopped, and suddenly I'm on a plane to Hong Kong to get to you. I would have been there sooner but. . It doesn't matter, I got there as fast as I could," he shrugged.   
  
"How come they didn't send my Father?"  
  
"In his condition?" he raised a single eyebrow.  
  
"What is . . . His condition?"  
  
"I really think Jack should be the one to tell you," he explained as she nodded. The moment was full of conflict for her; as much as she wanted him to hold her she also wanted him out of her room, to leave her with her pain.   
  
"That's probably for the best," she reluctantly agreed.   
  
"You should get some rest," he realized as he stood to leave. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything."  
  
Surely she needed a lot of things, but none of which he could offer. Not with the wedding ring and two painful years that separated them. "I'll be fine," she promised him, although she wasn't sure of the words herself. If she shut her eyes she could still easily conjure up the image of them in her kitchen on that first night together, or countless times playing on the ice. Life had been beautiful, for a moment it neared flawless, otherwise unattainable perfection. Now it was all just memories.  
  
"If you need me, just tell the guards and they can get a hold of me."  
  
"I won't need anything," she assured him, feeling her heart break. They hadn't felt this distant since before she'd called him to the pier that fateful night when her Father stood her up for dinner. There was no easy resolution to this, although she would settle for a difficult resolution if it meant some semblance of normalcy or better yet happiness.  
  
"Will you be okay by yourself?"  
  
"There are video cameras Vaughn, guards," she pointed out with a half smile and a shake of her head. "I'll be fine."  
  
Unless she'd been expecting it she knew she would have missed his nod and the mixed emotions in his eyes. There was a distance in them, an attempt to fully distance him from her, but at the same time there was longing. He was in pain, and as much as she wanted him to sooth her pain she wanted to be the one to take away his as well.  
  
"Good night Syd," he called softly as he walked out of medical services, leaving her on her own.  
  
A short drive away, in a comfortable apartment in a suburb of Los Angeles, Michael Vaughn walked into his apartment. Donovan eagerly chugged to greet him, jumping as high as his small legs would let him to kiss his face. Michael took a moment to greet his dog, speaking otherwise silly words to the slobbering dog and rubbing Donovan's belly. Once the dog was sedated and felt loved he returned to his daylong nap on his masters bed as Michael cautiously walked into the kitchen.  
  
Becky was humming along to a Mozart CD as she worked on dinner. When her husband entered she leaned over to turn down the music - classical was not her husband's type of music - as she washed her hands. "Did you get my message?" he asked, grabbing a glass and pouring him some water. Aspirin was definitely in his near future.  
  
"Yes, I did," she nodded. "I called Dr. Orange and Donovan goes to the vet on the sixteenth at four-thirty."  
  
"I'll leave early to take him," he offered.   
  
Once the stove was on she took the towel off of her shoulder, folded it and set it on the counter. Then she turned and faced her husband. Her voice was even when she spoke, "I met Sydney today."  
  
Her husband's back remained to her as he popped two Aspirin. "I know."  
  
"It's going to take a lot of work, but I think I'll be able to get her memories back."  
  
"Good," he nodded.   
  
"She was hostile."  
  
"What did you expect Becky, she's been missing for two years and didn't even realize it," he snapped. The redhead sighed and walked over to him. Her small, cool hand came to rest on his burning forearm.   
  
"Michael, I don't want to fight," she calmly explained. "I'm going to do everything I can to help her, but you should know that I don't think she was pleased that you requested I work with her. All I want to know is if you're okay."  
  
Finally he looked at her and nodded, "yeah, I will be. When will dinner be ready?"  
  
"Forty five minutes," she estimated as he began to loosen his tie.  
  
"I'm going to go take a shower."  
  
"Okay," she agreed. "Michael, if you want to talk -"  
  
"Damn it Becky," he stopped halfway to the bathroom to glare at her. "I really don't want to talk right now, okay? Especially not to a damn therapist."  
  
"You can talk to me as your wife too," she pointed out.   
  
His shoulders slouched as he sighed in frustration. "I know I can. I just don't want to talk right now. The day's been long and I'm still suffering jet lag. I just want to shower, eat dinner and go to sleep, okay?" he walked over and quickly kissed her.   
  
"Sure," she gave him a charming half smile and finished undoing his tie for him before he disappeared to the bathroom.  
  
Loneliness, Sydney discovered that night was a wonderful way to induce unwanted memories. Her exhaustion had built up to the point where she was so tired she couldn't sleep and she knew that she'd be collapsing into exhaustion sometime in the next day or two. The memories that overwhelmed her were both welcomed and unwanted. There was no passage of time to diminish both the good and the bad. Compared to the black void of time that greeted her in her last sleep, she almost envied that numbness to the flashbacks that kept her company during that long night.   
  
Being a genius with an IQ qualified for MENSA had its downsides. For her one of them was a near photographic memory. There was the image of when her Father was still tall and strong, her hero when she broke her leg during a camping trip with her parents. Meeting Arvin Sloane for the first time, feeling wildly patriotic on her first run-in with Dixon. A montage of memories filled with Francie and Will, laughing and goofing off through their undergrad days up through the last days in her memory. Danny, his goofy smile and charming accent when they first met and how he willingly crumbled to his knees to declare his love for her on the quad. Followed shortly thereafter by his denial of her real occupation, the fatal answering machine message and the image of his dead body in the bathtub.  
  
Then there was the first visitation with her 'guardian angel', an otherwise by-the-books CIA suit who had an 'instinct' about her. Discovering Charlie's true personality and having to be the one to delivery the horrible news to Francie. Another horrible discovery that her Mother was not whom she thought, and worse yet had killed the Father of the man she had begun to fall in love with. Taipei, her first encounter with her Mother and the devastating realization that the Man was not Khasinau but her own Mother. The feeling of relief when she discovered Vaughn, alive, in Cape Ferrat. Then the horrible days with his illness, and her willingness to sell her soul to save him. The watch story, and how over time Vaughn's non-humorous sense of humor became obvious. An awkward but silly conversation at Francie's restaurant upon her discovery of Will and Francie's relationship. Then, her two most glorious memories, standing in the wreckage of SD-6 in Michael Vaughn's arms and their first night together. That ranked up in her mind along with the time she offered him a drawer in her apartment, a memory she loved to recall for the sheer joy, playfulness and domestic bliss it implied.   
  
The fateful memory that struck her the most was a day nearly eleven years ago, when she finally caved into her curiosity and called the supposed CIA recruiter who had approached her on UCLA's massive campus. There were no signs to indicate that such a phone call would permanently ruin her life, that it would eventually take her away from any man she'd ever love and destroy the best friends she'd ever have. No, it'd been an ordinary day. Special K for breakfast, perhaps a bit too much sugar into her bowl but nothing alarming. Her Abnormal Psych class and Introduction to Russian before she opted to take that phone call. Afterwards, once she'd scheduled a meeting to hear more and take a test, there'd been dinner with Francie and Will before they watched a repeat of Cheers and did homework. Nothing out of the ordinary for an otherwise boring college student.  
  
She'd been sitting on her mattress, mindlessly braiding a strand of hair when the door to her room in medical service opened that day. Sydney had been contemplating how she'd survive the beginning of Kendall's inquiry on just a few short hours of sleep. Then she turned and saw her visitor, all thought of Kendall left her mind.  
  
"Will."   
  
Frankly she hadn't known what to expect, but he was standing and looked relatively well. Perhaps a wheel chair, maybe brain damage of some sort, but whatever trauma he'd undergone wasn't visible that morning. With the exception of a stiff-looking suit, he looked precisely how she remembered. "I offered to bring you breakfast," he spoke slowly and took deliberate steps as he brought her the tray. Under her observant eye it was obvious he'd undergone severe speech and physical therapy but had made tremendous progress in two years.  
  
Sydney stood and set the tray down before collapsing into his arms. "I thought you were dead. Will, I'm so sorry . . . I thought . . . " she started to cry as he held her tight  
  
"I know Syd," he sighed. "I thought you were dead too. I've missed you so much."  
  
Pulling back she looked up at him, relieved when he wiped away her tears. "How?"  
  
"I don't know," he shrugged. "The last thing I remembered was Allyson Doran and I fighting in our kitchen. I thought she'd killed me . . . The next thing I remember, it's sixteen hours later, your missing, Allyson is dead and I've got Eric Weiss at my bedside trying to explain everything."  
  
"Weiss?"  
  
"Yeah, he's a good guy Syd. Later your Dad and Vaughn apologized for not being there when I woke up, but at the time. ."  
  
"At the time they still thought they'd find me."  
  
"Yeah," he confirmed.   
  
"Did you get the senior analyst position?"  
  
Will laughed at the simple question and made a mental note to remember what was old news to him were earth-shattering revelations to her. "Yes. I was out for nine months . . . Recovering, but I did get the spot," he confirmed as he sat down across from her and ordered for her to eat. "I can't believe your here . . . Do you remember anything?" he leaned in; his blue eyes pierced her soul as she shook her head.  
  
"Nothing," she sighed. "I'm so glad you're okay," she smiled gratefully at him as she ate her breakfast.   
  
"I just want to look at you for a while . . . Make sure you don't go anywhere," he teased as she smiled. To her relief any resentment he held towards what she'd done to his life was overshadowed by his joy at her return.  
  
"Will you be at the debrief today?"  
  
"No, I have to go up to my office in a little while," he explained. "Since my cover's blown and SD-6 is no longer an issue, I'm an all-out government employee now."  
  
"No more traveling magazine?"  
  
"No, I can actually tell people what I do for a living now," he smiled. Soberly he looked at her, "I tried to call you that night."  
  
"I know," her eyes shut briefly as she nodded and offered him some of her food. "I got your voicemail."  
  
"I did everything I could Syd -"  
  
"Will, it was an impossible battle. Allyson obviously had training and her skills were amazing. You did the best you could," she shrugged. Quickly she blinked away her tears and spoke softly, "I just wish it didn't have to end like that."  
  
Discomfort induced his next movement as he looked away to the long window on the wall behind her. "Francie's body, the real Francie's body, was delivered to our apartment a week after you disappeared. It was so badly decomposed. . There was some suspicion for a while that it was you, but the DNA and dental records . . .. She'd been dead since the take down of the Alliance."  
  
Sydney's eyes shut as she pushed away her breakfast tray. Silently she waited as he continued. "We buried her. I don't even know what cover story they gave her family . . . We did it right though Syd, we gave her the service she deserved."  
  
"How. How did she? ."  
  
"Gunshot wound to the head. Died instantly."  
  
"How could we not have noticed?"  
  
"Allyson was convincing," he softly pointed out. "For awhile we practically had four trained agents living in that house, and of the four of us Francie was by far the most unassuming. Neither you nor I had any reason to ever . . . There were no signs. Sure, she was a bit different, but that could have been because she and I were just getting together or because of the restaurant. . "  
  
"The restaurant?" she covered her mouth, the tears once again pooling as she remembered how much her best friend had left behind.  
  
"Believe it or not I haven't screwed it up," he chuckled. "Francie's parents ran it for awhile, but about a year ago they sold out their shares to me. I hired people . . . I have no idea what I'm doing, luckily Amy's got some friends with experience and the place is still making a profit. We're in all those travel magazines you know, one of the best local restaurants in the LA Metro Area, I just couldn't see closing it."  
  
"Will, I'm so proud of you."  
  
"I love you Syd," he leaned over to embrace her, reassured to just have her in his arms again. Between the CIA and the restaurant his life hadn't been much else other then work since she disappeared. Trust didn't come easily to him anymore, but having her back was an unexpected gift. "If you need anything, I'm here."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered as they pulled back.  
  
"Your lucky today," he smiled as he saw the orderly approaching with the wheelchair. Sydney wiped her tears and sent him a quizzical look. "I already ran into Kendall today, his head isn't too high up his ass today so you should survive okay." Sydney laughed and thanked him as the orderly walked in. "I'll try to stop by after work," he squeezed her hand and promised. "Good luck."  
  
She smiled and thanked him as she disappeared towards the dreaded meeting.   
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A/N: Okay, I *was* going to give Jack cancer, then I considered ALS, but now I'm not sure. Thus it might be a few chapters until I clear that up, since I still haven't chosen the option to go with. Right now I'm thinking something ala SR 819 from X-Files maybe something w/ Sloane . . Not sure yet. I really want Syd to have some allies in all of this, people who have moved on but w/ who she still fits with, and I really like the idea of those people being Dixon, Will & Marshall (besides Jack, obviously). Anyway, please R&R - you make my day/week/month/year/millenium :)   
Oh, Crystal Raven could you please e-mail me privately? I accidentally deleted your Review e-mail but would love it if you'd like to be my beta.   
One last note for all my Trying Normal Fans - I just realized that 10/1/05 is not only the day I chose to use in this story, but also a *very* important day in TN! Wee! lol, once I get off this angst kick (you guys know me, really angst should be my middle name, not Elise) I'll be working on it and hopefully we'll have some fluff soon (although I really don't write that all too well). 


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction.  
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Sydney thanked the orderly and insisted on walking into the room on her own. To no great surprise her Father, Vaughn, Dixon and Kendall were there, but she was surprised to see Director Devlin sitting next to her Father. Kendall welcomed her and motioned for her to take her customary seat next to Vaughn.   
  
"Agent Bristow, how are you feeling?" Director Devlin asked.  
  
"Honestly, I'm still trying to understand how all of this could have happened," she sincerely answered. She decided it would be wise to not mention the emotional upheaval she was undergoing. That much should have been obvious to even the most untrained eye. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but is all of this necessary? Couldn't I just write down what I remember? It's what I did when I first became a double."  
  
"Yes, it is, but your memories been compromised Agent Bristow. Don't get me wrong, I trust you but neither I nor you should trust any memory you have from the past two years," Kendall explained. "We're hopeful that you can be out of here in a few days. If you can't make arrangements to stay somewhere the CIA will arrange a safe house for you until you get on your feet."  
  
Sydney silently thanked him and nodded her consent.   
  
"I think we're all familiar with the last few hours you remember, but why don't you go over it with us," the former FBI director suggested.  
  
"Do you really think that's necessary?" Jack protested.  
  
Ben Devlin spoke up, "Jack, I think this could be helpful. This might help Sydney in the long run. Take your time Agent Bristow," he advised.  
  
Sydney nodded, pushed her hair behind her ears and folded her hands. "I had made plans to go away with a friend for the weekend," she glossed over the details as Vaughn looked at his own hands, the pain appearing when she referred to him as a friend. "Agent Vaughn dropped me off at my home and when I went in Francie was there. She was reading a magazine and said she didn't know where Will was. We were just sitting in the living room, I was eating ice cream and she was reading her magazine. I checked my voicemail. . One was from Mary Beth, from Director Kendall's office, and other one was Will. . He had found evidence in my bathroom that led him to believe that Francie was the double . . . I offered the woman I believed to be Francie some of my ice cream and when she accepted it, I knew she was a double."  
  
"Would you care to elaborate Agent Bristow?" Devlin asked.  
  
"I had coffee ice cream. One thing my best friend couldn't stand was coffee ice cream. Real Francie would never have had some of it, but the double forgot that little detail."  
  
"What happened after you discovered the truth about Miss Doran?" Kendall demanded.  
  
Sydney sighed and struggled to retell that horrible night. "I went to my room to get my gun from under my bed. I told Francie I was going to go get changed. . Or something, I don't remember," she brushed hair out of her face. "I was knelt down getting the gun when Allyson appeared and told me that she just remembered that Francie doesn't like coffee ice cream. We ended up fighting. . We were in every room of the apartment. . I tossed a kitchen drawer at her and we pushed each other into cabinets and walls and mirrors . . .Somehow we ended up back in the bedroom. By then both of us were in pretty bad shape. . She tossed me into a mirror but lost the gun in the process. When she went to get it I cut her with a large shard of glass. . I managed to get the gun," she struggled at the tears that were there, that would probably always be there, when she retold this story. "I shot her. I shot her three times. . . The third time she fell to the ground."  
  
"Then what happened?" Devlin persisted.  
  
"I don't remember. I fell back. . I think I probably passed out . . . I'd seen Will in the bathtub when we were fighting in the bathroom and I thought he was dead . . . My last thoughts . . . All I could think that Will and Francie were dead, and that I was in a lot of pain. . I remember wishing that Vaughn would get there soon . . . Then I blacked out," she concluded. Unintentionally she'd slipped Vaughn's name in, too wrapped up in her recount to gloss over his presence. "I woke up in this alley in Hong Kong, I was confused. I found a phone booth and called the CIA. Initially I thought I'd been kidnapped, that someone had dropped me off in that alley . . . Then Vaughn arrived and . . . And I found out everything."  
  
Kendall nodded and picked up at thick file. "Agent Vaughn's account goes that he arrived and you were gone. The forensic team found enough blood that we believed that you had severe blood loss but we were uncertain of whether or not you were dead. We had agents in government organizations all over the world looking for you Agent Bristow, for you, your Mother and Arvin Sloane. Then suddenly you turn up, out of the blue, almost two years later in Hong Kong."  
  
"So you think my reappearance is some move in my Mother and Sloane's master plan?"  
  
"I believe that Arvin Sloane had no qualms about using you as a pawn," Kendall reminded her. "Which is why, when you do leave our custody, we'd like to give you constant protection. Your Mother or Sloane could contact you at any time."  
  
"You don't believe I willingly left, do you?" Sydney's words were clipped as Kendall shot her a smirk.  
  
"Give me a little more credit Agent Bristow, no one in this room believes that. If anyone of any credence believed it, we wouldn't be giving you such a lavish room in medical services."  
  
The last word that came to Sydney's mind was lavish when she imagined the room in medical services, but compared to the cell her Mother had been housed it, it was lush. "Where is Sark?"  
  
"He was transferred to Camp Harris over a year ago. Once you disappeared he quickly stonewalled as to your possible location," her Father explained  
  
"It was all an elaborate set up," she realized.  
  
Dixon spoke, "perhaps. We have no way of proving whether or not Sark knew or if Sloane was involved at all."  
  
"I think it's irresponsible to believe that Arvin Sloane was *not* somehow involved, directly or indirectly, in Sydney's disappearance," Vaughn added. Sydney cast him a brief sideways glance - it was the first time he'd spoken since she'd arrived in the room. "She wouldn't have just walked out of that apartment of her own free will, not with the condition both Will and Francie were in."  
  
"Vaughn's right," Jack confirmed. "We might not have any hard evidence to tie him to her disappearance but we don't have any evidence that proves him innocent either. I know Arvin and he has ways of making evidence disappear."  
  
His daughter nodded and considered the possibility that Sloane had ways of making memories vanish as quickly as evidence. "Doctor Vaughn's recommendation is we start regression therapy sessions once you're out of our custody and beginning to assimilate back into your life. Now Agent Bristow we're not entirely sure you'll be able to recover all your memories, but we'd like you to do your best. The process is going to take time and it's going to be a standing order that you see Dr. Vaughn at least weekly until we've pieced together most of your missing memories."  
  
Despite her own distaste for the assignment she conceded. Two years hadn't deteriorated Kendall's annoying but effective attitude. "Agent Bristow, not to interfere with your private life, but have you considered where you'd be staying?"  
  
"She could stay with me," Jack offered.   
  
Sydney immediately began to protest, "Dad, I couldn't."  
  
"Your my daughter Sydney, it's no trouble," he assured her.   
  
"Now that that's settled," Kendall cut in. "We'd like to keep you for a few more days. We still have some test results we're waiting for."  
  
"Including my lie detector test?" she asked testily.  
  
"What?" Vaughn's eyes widened as he looked at Kendall.  
  
At nearly the same time Jack had a similar reaction, "you gave her a *lie* detector test?"  
  
"Gentleman we had to be certain she wasn't lying to us. No, Agent Bristow, you'll be happy to know you passed with flying colors."  
  
"Were you expecting anything different?" Jack shot out.  
  
Vaughn continued, "Sydney isn't a criminal. We shouldn't be treating her as if she's done something wrong. She's a victim in all of this."  
  
"Thank you Agent Vaughn, I think I know how to do my job," Kendall snapped. "Would you like to return to your position or do you care to stay on in this investigation?" he asked pointedly. With no other option the younger man silenced and sat back in his seat.  
  
Devlin spoke, "Agent Bristow we'd like to make you two offers. Given your history, after you've completed your regression therapy we'd like to give you the option of returning to work here or joining the Witness Protection Program. Of course you cannot return to work for us and not join the program, but we'd like you to realize that both options are available to you. If you do choose to join the program we'd have to request you stay here until your regression therapy is over instead of entering back into society."  
  
"I don't want to go into the program," she wearily shook her head. Even though sitting next to Vaughn, knowing he belonged to Dr. Rebecca Cox Vaughn and was apparently in love with the doctor hurt Sydney; she couldn't imagine leaving her family and friends again. Especially not when her Father needed her. All Jack Bristow had was Sydney, and she had realized that little unmentioned tidbit during the late night travels of her mind. She'd unwillingly left him for two years, and she wasn't going to leave him again.  
  
"Well then Agent Bristow, you're welcome to return to work for us. Either as an analyst or an agent, I'd say you're qualified with whatever you'd prefer," Devlin assured her.  
  
Jack popped in with another suggestion, "I'm sure linguistics could use your expertise as well, should you choose that path."  
  
"Thank you," she said as she stifled a yawn. "I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well."  
  
"Why don't we do this later?" Jack suggested. "Sydney's not going to leave. I think everyone here can agree that this is going to be a process that's going to take time, there's no need to dig through all of this in one sitting."  
  
"I agree," Dixon nodded. "Syd's been through a lot."  
  
"Did you eat today Agent Bristow?" Devlin asked as she nodded, clearly tasting the burnt toast on her tongue.  
  
"Perhaps some time up on the roof would do you some good," Kendall suggested. "Jack, what do you think?"  
  
"If Sydney wants that. "  
  
"Right now I'd like to go back to my room. I'm still tired."  
  
"I'll have medical services send you up something that might help you sleep," Kendall offered. "Do you need anything?"  
  
My life back, but she knew better then to give the Director that response. "No. I think I just need some sleep."  
  
As if on cue the orderly reappeared with the wheelchair. "If you need anything Agent Bristow, don't hesitate to ask," Kendall commanded as she thanked him. "Get some rest, and if you remember anything - *anything* Miss Bristow, regardless of how minute it may seem - you've got a pen and pad to keep you occupied."  
  
The trail from the conference room to medical services was familiar to her on that late morning journey. Her bed was appealing as she walked in to her solitude. Shoes were quickly discarded and she was readjusting the pillows they had given her when the door opened. To her delight she looked over her shoulder and discovered Eric Weiss standing there expectantly.  
  
"So what, no sugar?"  
  
"You'll get your sugar," she grinned and stood to hug him. "Oh, it's so good to see you."  
  
He pulled back and smiled, "I have to say the same thing," he agreed.   
  
"Sit," she motioned as she sat on her mattress and he sat across from her.  
  
"This place isn't too shabby," he teased as he glanced around. "So how are you doing?"  
  
"Everyone keeps asking me that and I still don't know. Confused, mostly, and . . . Sad. So sad."  
  
"So do you want to know?" he asked softly. To her surprise look he rolled his eyes, "c'mon Syd. You're a spy, and female, that means you have a need to know. Do you want me to tell you because I have this nagging doubt that you're having anything to do with my buddy Mike."  
  
"I met her," she conceded.  
  
"I have to say that insisting she work with you was a stupid move on Mike's part," he commented as she sighed. "Still Syd, for what it's worth I think Mike's heart's in the right place."  
  
"Two years, I was gone for almost two years and he's not only given up, grieved and dated, he somehow found time to get *married*," she shook her head as the words shot out of her softly but with an unmistakable venom. "Married. For life . . . Maybe it's my ego, but I didn't think I was that easy to replace."  
  
"Your not, but for what it's worth neither was Brandon," he commented as she looked up, the confusion easily read on the curves of her face. "Do you want the story or not?"  
  
"I'm not going to like it."  
  
"Since I doubt your going to ask Mike, I might be your only option. C'mon Syd, no one does a story like the Amazing Weiss."  
  
"'The Amazing Weiss'?" she stifled her laughter and lifted her eyebrows.  
  
Eric laughed and shrugged, "Marshall loves my magic tricks. I think it's gone to my head."  
  
"Just a little," she laughed. After a second to regain her composure she silently waited for him to continue.  
  
"At first Vaughn *hated* Becky. I mean he hates the idea of shrinks, the companies basically been making him go to one since he lost his Dad as a kid, you know, standard protocol to offer counseling to family members and his Mom made him go," he explained as she nodded. "If you ask either of them if they're the love of each others lives, they'll both say no. They admit it Syd, they love each other but it's not this earth-shattering, life-altering love that . . . " he trailed off and looked at her as she nodded. Her silence was all the understanding he needed. "Becky's a widow. Married out of high school, married for eight years - happily - before his car was high jacked and he was killed. That news was the straw that finally brought Mike around. She had to tell him that before he'd tell her anything. Initially I thought it was good, you know, they could have their own little Widows and Widowers of the CIA group or something," he shrugged with his flippant comment as she conceded a small smile. "Eventually their shared grief led to coffee and eventually dates. They'd been dating for about three months when they got married. The ceremony wasn't much more then a justice of the peace Syd. They're comfortable together. Shared grief, patriotism and love for the Mets is apparently a strong combination."  
  
She wanted to be strong enough to say something like 'good' or that she was happy for them finding comfort in each other. Still she didn't have it in her. For her the two years didn't exist and this was the deepest burn he could have inflicted upon her soul. Surely their relationship had undergone a lot of weight during its bumpy course, but the lightweight gold wedding band on his finger might be more then it could bear.  
  
"So what," Weiss continued as he read her forlorn expression. Since news of Sydney's reappearance his best friend had been wavering between caution, fear, euphoria and rage. Considering he was the one who'd been missing for two years he could only imagine the scope of Sydney's emotions. "Do you wish you could take it all back? Do it all over again and not be with him?" he inquired. The question was not an insult or a defamation, just simple curiosity from a friend. "Would that make it easier right now?" he ended on a gentler note.  
  
"I've been thinking about it. A lot, actually," she conceded. Of all the new mysteries in her life, the mystery of Vaughn was the most painful. "I've decided I wouldn't change it. It hurts now . . . To even look at him," she whispered. "What we had . . . I would rather have that time, no matter how short it was, to look back on. That was as close to perfection as I've ever been. Even when I was a kid, and everything was great . . . What we had was everything I wanted. Those moments were worth all the flaws and pain that I have now. They mean everything to me."  
  
Eric Weiss considered himself perhaps not an overly masculine man, but still a strong male. Still, the look on Sydney's face and the soft words she chose to utter had him near tears. Even when she looked back at him, he had a quiet sympathy around him that she'd never seen him carry before. "Did you ever tell him you loved him?"  
"We never said it," she looked down at her hands. "I don't think we needed to, we both knew. I think. . If we said it too soon, it would cheapen what we had . . . It was there though, in every little word and action, without question or regard . . . "  
  
"'The course of true love never did run smooth'. Shakespeare," he grinned in pride.   
  
"What, your a poet now?" she teased and bit her tongue as he shrugged.  
  
"I decided it looked better to the ladies of I could come up with deep things to say while impressing them with my yo-yo and magic tricks," he managed to explain with a blank face before she laughed. "I've got one you'll really like."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"'Everything is okay at the end. If its not okay, then it's not the end'."  
  
With a sigh she looked down at her fingernails before back at him, "I hope your right."  
  
"Yeah," he leaned over to squeeze her hand. "I do too"  
  
  
"Sydney. Sydney, wake up," a small hand jostled her as she opened her eyes. To her surprise, Marshall stood anxiously in front of her holding a breakfast tray. "I'm sorry to wake you. I mean, I'm not sorry, that's what Director Kendall ordered me to do, but I know your not sleeping. . See, I found out Will brought you breakfast and I was like, hey, I'm her friend, I can bring her lunch! . . " He trailed off uncertainly from his ramble. "Is that okay?"  
  
A full smile split across her face before she had fully sat up. "This is great Marshall, thank you."  
  
"You look amazing," he smiled sweetly. "We all thought. Well, you know what we all thought."  
  
"Dixon told me you married Carrie," she teased as his cheeks glowed. "Congratulations."  
  
"Thanks . . . See, we were going out for like two months before she finally kissed me. Don't get me wrong, I *wanted* to kiss her. . But I don't have much experience with the ladies, if you know what I mean," he whispered as she nodded. If she'd been conscience of her two-year absence she was certain she would have missed Marshall's sweet, good-natured ramblings.  
  
"Carries very pretty, very smart too," she complimented. "So, do you have any kids?"  
  
"Soon," he started visibly sweating. "In February. Our first. Before we knew you had . . . Reappeared, we were thinking about naming it after you. Now we're probably going to name if after my Mom.. If that's okay. ."  
  
"Congratulations, that's wonderful," she sincerely spoke. When someone was around Marshall, with his consistent nearly childlike honesty it was hard to do anything but return the truth. "So it's a girl?"  
  
"Yeah . . . Well, we think so."  
  
"That's great," she complimented. Before he could response and the door opened with a visitor she thought she'd permanently freed herself of.  
  
Michael Vaughn looked uncomfortable, one hand in his pocket and the other dangling from his side. All the while he looked at Marshal expectantly. "I'm going to go," Marshall squirmed in his own skin. "Syd, I'm so glad your back," he leaned in to hug her. "Oh, you've got to see this new gadget I just came up with, it's this -"  
  
"Marshall," Vaughn impatiently cut him off.  
  
"Yeah, I'm going. I'll come visit you later," he promised.  
  
"Bring Carrie too, I'd love to see her," she called as the tiny man disappeared. Now left with just her lunch and Vaughn, the room seemed smaller then ever.  
  
"Kendall wanted me to come see you," he clarified.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
He let out a tired sigh as he sat down on the mattress across from her. "They gave you an extremely thorough exam up in medical services . . . Some of the results. Kendall thought it would be best if I discussed them with you, privately."  
  
Sydney would just prefer they never discuss anything privately ever again, but he was still her superior so there was no option out of this. "What did they find out? Is it something with my proteins?"  
  
"Nothing like that Syd," he assured her. "When you first joined the CIA, we had you fill out a thorough medical history, remember?" he asked as she nodded. "We're prohibited by law to ask certain . . . questions about your medical past."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"In high school, or even college Syd . . . Were you ever pregnant?"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "My first real boyfriend wasn't even until after I joined SD-6 and then I was on the pill," she answered before her blood went cold. "Why?"  
  
"According to the lab, you've been pregnant. They're not conclusive on whether or not you've actually had a child, but you've been pregnant."  
  
"No," she shook her head. "I would *remember* a baby, damn."  
  
"Unless you never had a baby," he brazenly took her hand and cut off her rant. "Unless whoever took you did something to you so that you never had a baby."  
  
Her eyes shut as she took back her hand and covered her face. In another time, another place, this man would have been by her side, his arm around her in an attempt to comfort her. Now he sat a respectable distance away, watching with the appropriate amount of sympathy mixed with a tinge of pain. When her eyes opened she met his and shook her head, "Vaughn, I swear, I didn't know -"  
  
"I know Syd," he assured her.   
  
"I just want my life back," she wiped away her tears.   
  
"I know," he softly spoke with a nod of his head.   
  
As he sat across from her, unwilling to make a move to comfort her, she slowly felt what little composure she had fall to the waste side. "Why?" she asked as his confused eyes met hers.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I don't even know where to begin . . . What made you think it was even remotely appropriate to send me to your *wife* as my therapist?"  
  
"Becky's a trained professional Syd, one of the best -"  
  
"She's your *wife*!" she snapped. "I don't even want to *think* about that, never mind that I'll be recovering the last two years with that woman! I don't want to think about her but now, because of *you* I have to see her! My God, I've been home less then seventy two hours and thanks to you I end up in the *her* office!"  
  
"I'm just looking out for you -"  
  
"No, your not!" she snapped. "You gave up looking out for me a long time ago. This is *hell* for me Vaughn and your just making it worse!"  
  
"Don't pull this self-righteous crap with me Sydney. My life just couldn't stop because you were no longer around."  
  
"No longer around! Jesus Vaughn you make it sound like I was on some extended vacation! I don't know what I've been or who I've been with or what I've done for two damn years! I always had you, through the hell that I had to go through I always had you, and now . . . Now you can't even *look* at me. You were *everything*, you became the reason I got up most mornings . . . You forgave me for my stupidity and I forgave you for looking into my Mother -"  
  
"You forgave me? For what Sydney, for my own self-assurance? For insuring that someone you love wasn't once again betraying you? Then you'll have to forgive me again Syd, because that's what I'm doing here, looking out for you."  
  
"You don't need to feel obligated to look out for me. I have my Father, Dixon. . I can handle my own life."  
  
"Obligated?" his eyes widened as he paced. "I don't feel *obligated* to look out for you, not for the reasons you think. I *want* to look out for you Sydney. I was there in Hong Kong, wasn't I?"  
  
"The CIA forced you to come retrieve me."  
  
"The CIA could have just as easily sent Dixon or even Will. I *demanded* I be the one called at *any* lead. I *had* to move on Syd, but I meant what I told you earlier. None of this changes how I feel about you, or that I'm here to support you"  
  
"Thank you," she said as she looked at her hands. Both of them could avoid one another's eyes if that's what he wanted. "For taking care of my Dad and Will . . . Neither one of them has mentioned it, but I'm sure you must have . . ."  
  
"Most of Will's recovery has been his own work," Vaughn explained. "I didn't think he would make it . . . His progress has been amazing."  
  
"I'm so proud of him," she smiled. "Weiss stopped by earlier."  
  
"Oh, he did?" he asked, trying to feign his casual interest.   
"He wanted to see if I needed anything," she explained. "Then Marshall brought me my lunch and was telling me a bit about things with Carrie."  
"She's pregnant."  
"I know," she smiled and looked down at her food. "Marshall's going to be a Father . . ." she shook her head as she attempted to eat the tasteless food. In her mind she toyed with the idea of asking how his normal life was going but decided to let sleeping dogs lie, at least temporarily. "You look tired," she noted, her eyes still glued to her lunch.  
  
"I am," he agreed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes he was surprised to see Sydney silently offering him her small packet of crackers. They made crumbs on his expensive suit, were hard and tasted stale, but the taste of a possible peace between the two of them was what lingered with him long after the crackers were gone.  
  
"I hate chicken soup," she sighed as she ate the lukewarm liquid from the Styrofoam cup.   
  
"At least the CIA's soup is better then the FBI's," he joked as a hint of a smile briefly fluttered across the corner of her lips. "You must be getting bored in here," he said as he looked around the barren room. "Not even a television."  
  
"I'm a bit too early for the Kings though, aren't I?"  
  
"Yeah," he slight smile passed over his lips. "Just a bit. I could have them bring you some books. That way you'd have something to read."  
  
"Maybe a newspaper?"   
  
"Sure, that too," he complied. "You must need some more clothes too."  
  
"A shower."  
  
"I'll talk to Dr. Nichols about the shower and your Father about bringing you some clothes," he explained.   
  
"Do you have any idea how long they're going to keep me?"  
  
"Hopefully not long. There's no need for Kendall to drag this out longer then necessary."  
  
"What happened to my apartment?"  
  
"Will and I sold it. With all the . . . damage and news coverage, we had to sell it as a fixer-upper. The profits went towards the restaurant. Will bought a place closer to the CIA and the restaurant."  
  
"Our belongings?"  
  
"Will and Francie's family split up what was left of hers. Since we weren't sure what happened to you, yours went into storage. I assume that's where they are now."  
  
Briefly she thought back to the drawer and wondered how, at all, he'd explained that to her Father. "How long did you wait before you. Sold it?"  
  
"A year. It got to the point where your Father and I just couldn't afford the rent, and Will couldn't afford it on his own either."  
  
"I'm going to stay with my Dad for awhile, once they let me go. "  
  
"That should be good for both of you."  
  
"I hope I can help him," she softly mused as he checked his watch.   
  
"I'm sorry Syd, I have to -"  
  
"Go back to work," she finished for him. "Thank you for telling me."  
  
"I'll see what I can do about getting you something to do along with a shower and fresh clothes."  
  
"Thanks," she nodded. Finally he met her eyes, and for half a moment she felt real again, before he stood and walked out the door.   
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A/N: Admittedly, I am a bit uneasy about the whole pregnancy thing, *but* I wanted some sort of joint angst for the two of them to share. Yes, they're both in pain over her disappearance, but with the pregnancy thing I have them both at the beginning stages of grieving for the same thing. Plus I was going to wait until I got a beta to post it, but I decided we all needed at least a semi-sweet S/V scene. Still I'll probably wait until I have a beta to post chapter 6 (not written yet, that could be a problem too :)). All my other stories are being ignored, so I think I need to pay them *some* attention too (my original characters get P.O.'ed when Alias characters control the muse). Still, thanks for the support & ideas and reviews - please please *PLEASE* keep them coming. You feed my soul :) 


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction.  
Dedication: To my new friend & beta Linda - thank you so much for everything.   
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"She was pregnant."   
  
Vaughn looked up from his desk to see his wife standing expectantly in his doorway. "I see news travels fast," he murmured as he turned his attention back to his work.   
  
Becky sighed and walked into the room, sauntering into a chair across from his desk. "Neither one of you knew."  
  
He looked up at her, the wrinkles creasing his forehead. "Of course not, don't you think I would have mentioned that to someone?"   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"   
  
"Not really Becky," he groaned. Not with her at least.   
  
"Perhaps you and Sydney could have a joint session with me, once she's released, to talk about this."   
  
"Excuse me?" His eyebrow rose at the suggestion. Something told him that if he were in the same room as Sydney and his wife, he'd inevitably end up in some sort of physical discomfort. "I don't think that's a good idea."   
  
"You two need to talk about this. *You* need to talk about this -"   
  
"We will, okay?" he snapped. "Just not now and *not* together."   
  
"Michael, I can't help you if you don't let me."   
  
"I don't want help, okay?" he shot back, his eyes still on his computer screen.   
  
"So you want to wallow in misery again?"   
  
Yes, damn it, for awhile he *did* want to wallow in his misery again. Still, that wasn't an answer she'd accept. "I just don't want to talk about this right now."   
  
"Whether either of you wants to talk about this, eventually you're going to have to," she advised. When he didn't respond she sighed, "You're thinking about how it would have been."   
  
This time he sent her a brief glance. "What do you mean?"   
  
"If Sydney hadn't gone missing, if she hadn't… lost your child. You're imagining how it would be."   
  
"I love you Becky," he softly reminded her.   
  
"I know you do," she agreed. "I love you too, but I'm not, nor will I ever be, Sydney Bristow."   
  
"I never expected you to be Sydney." With a detachment that only came from years of training, she folded her hands in her lap as she spoke. "You still say her name in your sleep."   
  
"I don't," he shook his head.   
  
A controlled laugh broke the room's uneasy silence. "You do Michael. I don't hold it against you because frankly I wonder if I don't do the same thing with Brandon sometimes. I want to help you, but you need to remember that *I'm* your wife. We're in this together, so don't you dare shut me out."   
  
"I won't," he promised, although they both sensed it would be a promise he'd break.   
  
"I should go, I have a session in a few minutes." She stood and adjusted her blazer. "I'll see you at home?"   
  
"Yeah," he waved his hand. "I'm not sure when I'll be back."   
  
"I don't expect you to be early," she answered as she quickly kissed him.   
  
  
  
  
  
Directors Kendall and Devlin and Agent Jack Bristow arrived at medical services later that afternoon. To all three men's surprise, Sydney had requested the guard get them for her. As the three men entered the room, Sydney stood, looking far more put together then she had at their earlier meeting.   
  
"Sydney, is everything okay?" Jack asked. Even his poker face couldn't hide his obvious concern.   
  
"I need a week." She pressed her lips together.   
  
"Excuse me Miss Bristow?" Kendall looked both amused and confused by this sudden development. Out of nowhere, it appeared that a tiny piece of the former Sydney Bristow was back and, as before, demanding control.   
  
"A week. I need a week to do a few things for myself, outside of here, and then I'll do whatever you want. Therapy, hypnosis, whatever, but I need a week."   
  
"I'm going to have to warn you Agent Bristow, if this is a ploy to track down your mother or Arvin Sloane -" Kendall started.   
  
Sydney barely bit back her disgust. "This is about *me* I need to do a few things for *me*, to start to make peace. I'm not doing that in here. I don't think I can effectively retrieve my memories unless I'm comfortable with how my life now is. I swear to you that this is not a ploy for justice, this is something I need to do for *me*, for my own state of mind."   
  
Kendall and Devlin looked wearily over at the elder Bristow. "Jack, what are your thoughts on this?" Kendall demanded.   
  
Jack shrugged and looked at his daughter. "I don't see how it can do any harm."   
  
"We'll have to give you a tracking device and I'd like to have someone from security keep track of you, for your own safety," Devlin added.   
  
"Fine. I'm going to need a car too," she realized.   
  
"We'll give you one with a GPS. We trust you Agent Bristow, but I'm not willing to take any chances," Kendall explained. "I'm going to make an appointment for you to see Dr. Vaughn starting next week Agent Bristow."   
  
"That's fine," she agreed.   
  
"Miss Bristow, are you sure your prepared for this?" Devlin asked cautiously.   
  
"I just need some time."   
  
Ben Devlin looked at the two other men, most relieved to see Jack Bristow's slight nod of approval. "I suppose given your recent past, that's understandable."   
  
Kendall sighed, "I'll go start the paperwork. We should be able to release you by dinnertime."   
  
"Thank you." Sydney offered him a tiny smile as the two directors started to leave. Jack made an off-handed promise to join them in a moment.   
  
"Sydney, are you certain about this?"   
  
"There are things I need to do, and I can't do them here," she explained. "Dad, I *promise* you it has nothing to do with tracking down Sloane or Mom."   
  
Jack studied her for a moment before he nodded. "I'll wait for them to release you and then you can follow me home."   
  
"Thank you," she smiled at him, relieved to have his trust as he disappeared from the cell.   
  
  
  
  
  
The sun had already set when Michael Vaughn once again set foot in medical services. For appearance sake he made small talk with Dr. Nichols for a few moments, holding tight onto his brief case as they discussed sports and the weather. Finally, as the seconds ticked away like hours, he got to the chase. "Actually, I'm here to see Sydney."   
  
"Yes, I suspected as much." Dr. Nichols smiled at him. "However Miss Bristow left about an hour ago."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"She was discharged from my care. Director Kendall signed off on it."   
  
"Are you sure that was such a wise idea?"   
  
"Miss Bristow said she needed a week to get her life in order, before she began the hypno-regression sessions and counseling. Since her father and Directors Devlin and Kendall agreed, I had no choice."   
  
"Do you know where she went?"   
  
"I would expect she'd be at her father's."   
  
Vaughn internally grimaced. There was no way he was going to Jack Bristow's now. He and Jack had made strides since Sydney's disappearance, but he suspected with Sydney now there, he'd be an unwelcome guest. That was if Sydney didn't whip his ass the moment she saw him. Understandably he was not her favorite person in the world at the moment, no matter how desperately he might have wanted to be or how badly he felt they needed to talk. She was going to have none of him any time soon, and he knew it.   
  
"Do you need anything else Agent Vaughn?"   
  
The doctor's question broke through his thoughts as he shook his head. "No, thank you," he said. With no other option he turned around and left medical services. All he could do was wonder when - or even *if* - he'd see Sydney again.   
  
  
  
  
  
Fresh air, even in Los Angeles, felt significantly better then the stale, sterile oxygen that had surrounded her in medical services. The CIA had supplied her a non-descript-looking sedan along with a tracking device that she wore along her ankle. Once in her car she followed her father to his residence. Even though he could no longer drive due to his condition, Jack Bristow had a driver who took the short route towards the home Sydney hadn't seen in years.   
  
Before her disappearance it had been years since she'd been to the home she'd grown up in, and was surprised to see her father even still lived in the home. The house was empty of anyone ("The housekeeper is off," he explained) when they first walked in. Sydney offered to help her Father around but it was obvious that even in a wheelchair Jack Bristow was in no need of assistance. Instead, he directed his daughter to go get comfortable and that he had taken steps to put some of her former clothes into her former bedroom. Free to take a shower and get comfortable, she padded around the house, in awe of the memories that still appeared when she was there. Almost two hours later she arrived in the kitchen, relaxed and comfortable in loose pants, a tank top and a loose windbreaker. Wherever she'd been, she fully suspected she'd lost some weight since her 'disappearance'.   
  
"I hope you're hungry. Dinner will be ready momentarily," Jack explained as he directed her to sit.   
  
"Dad, I can -"   
  
"Sit Sydney, I'm fully capable of making and serving dinner," he instructed. "I hope you still like chicken."   
  
"I love chicken." She smiled as he managed to wheel himself and two dinner plates over.   
  
"My cooking skills are adequate Sydney, but I assure you Rose will be back tomorrow to prepare the meals."   
  
"This is great," she promised him. They began the meal in silence, both eager to ask questions but neither wanting to push. Finally Jack broke the silence. "You said you wanted to do some things. What did you have in mind?"   
  
"I might go away for a few days. Go up the coast… Just to get away, collect my thoughts. I was planning on taking a vacation when… When I disappeared."   
  
"That sounds nice," he approved.   
  
"Will you be okay by yourself?"   
  
He looked up at her. "I'll be fine Sydney."   
  
Despite her own reserves she nodded. She ate some more of her meal, complimenting her Father on his cooking. "Dad, what's wrong?" she asked finally as he glanced up at her. "Vaughn said… He said you were dying."   
  
"I see that Agent Vaughn's become quite a pessimist," he noted with slight amusement. "Yes, Sydney, I've been ill since you disappeared. For awhile there was some question of my general health. While I no longer have use of my legs, I assure you that I'm not going to die anytime soon."   
  
"What happened?" she asked softly, sipping from her water and giving him her full attention.   
  
"Before you disappeared, Arvin made me an offer. He wanted us to be… partners again; to realize what Rambaldi was trying to create. Needless to say he didn't enjoy my answer of no. During the time he had me in custody, before the CIA raided the offices and found me, he injected me with something. The CIA labs still haven't been able to identify the substance. For about a year I was in and out of the hospitals. There were… complications, concerns on my health. All of that eventually culminated in the loss of my legs. Thankfully we've been able to treat the complications I've had with my cardiac and vascular systems."   
  
"So you're not dying?" she whispered in obvious relief.   
  
Jack was amused as he shook his head. "My health is, of course, an issue, but it usually is with a man my age. I'm fifty-five now Sydney, and probably should not be doing the job I do. However, I refuse to give up. I will not let whatever he masterminded end my life. More importantly I refuse to see my grave until I see Arvin Sloane in his."   
  
"What about my mother?"   
  
"Leads on your mother have been as elusive as they are on Sloane. The last time I actually saw her was seven months ago in Madrid. Since then we've had reported sightings, contacts who claim to have been in touch with her, but nothing concrete."   
  
"Why haven't they killed Sark?"   
  
"On the off-chance that his Intel might become useful one day. Or there were hopes that we might be able to keep him in custody to one day trade for you." She nodded and looked back at her plate, finishing off her rice. Cautiously Jack broached the next subject. "Sydney, you should know that Agent Vaughn came to me before he was married," he said as her eyes flashed up to his. "At the time… I just thought you should know that I gave him my blessing. Looking back on my actions I regret them. If I had known that -"   
  
"It's fine Dad," she stopped him and removed her eyes from his. "You had no way of knowing."   
  
"I never intended for my actions to come back to hurt you Sydney, nor did Agent Vaughn."   
  
"Vaughn's made his decision now," she spoke softly. "All I can do is live with them."   
  
"You said you wanted to go away for a few days. When would you leave?"   
  
"Tomorrow night, if I can get a reservation," she explained.   
  
"I'd like to give you a cell phone to take with you. Kendall's an ass, but I agree that no precaution is too much to keep you safe. Especially now. We have no idea who's watching or what they might want."   
  
"I assume that the CIA will trail me wherever I go."   
  
"They won't interfere with your plans Sydney, but yes, they will. They'll also have orders to bring either Arvin Sloane or your mother into custody if they approach you, and permission to shoot to kill if necessary," he explained. The idea of watching her Mother die before her eyes was not appealing, but she mutely nodded. "Would you like company on your trip? I could arrange to take -"   
  
"Dad," she cut him off. "Thank you, for everything. For supporting me and letting me stay here, but what I need to do, I need to do alone."   
  
After a moment of deliberation he nodded. "Perhaps while you're gone I could arrange for your things to be removed from storage."   
  
"Thank you," she smiled at him.   
  
"I'm your Father Sydney. I know my skills as such are… barely adequate, but if you need something I will make sure you have it."   
  
"I can't believe you still live here," she mused as she looked around the kitchen. The kitchen where she first learned how to bake and where her Father had walked his then-five year old daughter through how to make spaghetti. At the time, pasta had seemed to be the most complicated meal in the world. It was the room where her mother had made every birthday cake she had for the first six years of her life, and where her parents had shared every anniversary dinner that she ever recalled.   
  
"Yes, well, once you left home I decided that it was just easier to keep it," he explained with slight unease. Then he continued in a softer voice, "Eventually it became apparent that the house had more good memories for me than bad."   
  
"Dad, you should know that I want to come back to the agency. I'm not sure when, or in what capacity… But I can't imagine doing anything else. Not now, and maybe not ever."   
  
"Yes, I fully suspected that would be the case," he sighed. "I don't disapprove of your choices Sydney, but I wanted you to have a safe, normal life," he explained as she nodded. "For what weight my opinion holds, you would be a fabulous asset to linguistics and you'd still be able to have a normal life."   
  
"Thank you," she whispered, unaccustomed to his compliments.   
  
"May I offer you another bit of advice?" he spoke cautiously as she nodded. "Like it or not, you will, eventually, have to speak to Agent Vaughn. Avoiding him will not work forever, and might only make things more difficult for both of you."   
  
"I know," she agreed. "Just… Nothing feels real right now." She looked around the house and conceded to her inner turmoil.   
  
"Yes, I understand that," he nodded as she looked at him. "After your mother left… I used to watch you sleep. I was so sure you would disappear… That I would lose you somehow. I couldn't bear to go through that again, to lose you. It takes time, but eventually things feel real again. You feel more than just pain and anger. And eventually you'll be happy again."   
  
"How? How do I get past this?"   
  
"Time," he shrugged. "You're still young sweetheart, and vastly intelligent. There's only one promise I can make you Sydney."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"This is not the end."   
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A/N: Secret Agent Girl - HI!!! lol, I love your reviews, you know that?! you are awesome, and really I just love how you guys use my naem (I'm so easily amused). Syd's not going to kick Becky's ass (but man it's tempting) I'm still a little cautious of the pregnancy story line (didn't I kill that in Coming to Terms? Really guys, aren't you sick of me using that ploy by now? hell, I used a pregnancy in Lightkeeper too) but I've executed it before & I should do okay even though the circumstances are vastly different here.   
Everyone who reviews - you guys are the greatest! seriously, my dream job is to work for Alias - how great would that be! They wouldn't even have to pay me (although if they could set up a trust fund to pay for my tuition to Southern Vermont College, it would be greatly appreciated), I'd just want to sit there and watch everyone. Seriously, I'd die (I can't even approach people I know, nevermind perfect strangers).   
Oh, yeah, I think I found the biggest understatement of an Alias actor regarding their character in a recent interview. This has *got* to be the biggest understatement of the season. In his TV Guide interview (March 22-28, p. 45) Michael Vartan says "Something I do in the season finale puts a lot of stress on our relationship." Man, Vartan certainly knows how to give an understatement! okay, anyway, in hindsight I think it's a near humorous comment.   
Okay, that's enough - review now please :) feed my soul :) 


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
Dedication: To my new friend & beta Linda - thank you so much for everything.   
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With the few possessions she had at her father's home, it didn't take Sydney long to pack a bag for the next few days. Jack left for work shortly after breakfast, before she departed for her vacation. The tracking device on her ankle and the GPS in the car were both working properly, and Jack had provided her with a cell phone. Some of his parting words had been instructions to leave the phone on at all times, even it was just on vibrate, so they would be able to keep in constant contact. There was obvious concern in his eyes about letting his daughter go on her own, but he gave her a slightly awkward hug, demanded that she call him when she arrived, and wished her a nice trip.   
  
Even with her disappearance, the route to her first destination was familiar to her. The black iron gates seemed foreboding as she passed through, anxious about what she was about to do. Still, this could not be avoided, and she knew as much. Next to her the floral spread perfumed the air as she rolled down the windows. Mentally she reviewed the instructions Will had given her on the phone the night before, relieved he still worked with a reporters eye for detail, otherwise she never would have arrived at her destination.   
  
The marker was small, and she would have overlooked it if she hadn't sought it out. With a quick glance, she was relieved to see she was alone in the cemetery, and placed the colorful arrangement in front of the headstone. The words were chiseled in the granite, bold and silently accusing her of a crime she didn't even commit. Half a step back she stared at it, taking in every little detail from the tone of the granite to the few dandelions and overgrown blades of grass that surrounded it.   
  
"I'm so sorry Francie," she whispered. "I'm so sorry… I know I didn't do this, but I know this never would have happened…" The tears welled up despite her vow that they wouldn't. "I miss you. I know that seems crazy, I've been gone for two years, but I do. I missed the real you… You never got to meet Vaughn… You barely got to be with Will… The restaurant… I'm so sorry Fran," she covered her mouth. Her eyelids slid shut as the tears silently traveled down her cheeks. "You were the best friend I ever had, and I am *so* sorry I wasn't that to you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you out of this, that I couldn't protect you somehow… I really wish you were here. Then I could try to make this better, to be the friend you deserved… Plus, I could really use my best friend right now."   
  
There was no response and there never would be again. In her mind she could still imagine Francie glowing about Baxter, her basketball playing college boyfriend, or accepting Charlie's proposal. The true glow of happiness that had accompanied her in the short time she'd been with Will, and how flustered they both had been to explain it. The first real family she had ever known, her first brush with true friendship and unending love and support had all come from Francie. Sure there were times when her best friend had thought she was insane ("Seriously Syd, who needs to learn Arabic anyway? You work at a bank in Los Angeles, not the Middle East") or was inquisitive ("Is it the picture frame guy?" "There is no picture frame guy!") but she still loved her.   
  
"I love you Francie," she spoke softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the friend you deserved, but thank you for everything you gave me. Whether you realized it or not, you contributed to every good part of me," she explained. "I wish I had been there when you needed me, and I'll never forgive myself for bringing you into this life. Still, I hope that wherever you are, you can forgive me."   
  
What she wanted to imagine was Francie smiling, hugging and forgiving her. Perhaps she'd even sit and listen to the wretched truth about her life. Then she'd take her to drinks at the restaurant or ice cream on the sofa and fix everything with some girl-time and understanding. She'd sit and listen to her vent about her former CIA handler, and allow her to tear apart every good quality he had, all while understanding that she didn't mean a word of it. The friendship they had was rare and special, understanding and forgiving. It was like no other friendship she'd ever experienced before and doubted she'd ever experience it again.   
  
For a suspended moment in time she stood there, silently begging for forgiveness. There was no more peace to be found, no more amends to be made. Francie was gone, and nothing could change that. Apparently she'd been gone for a long time now, and the Calfo's had decided not to put a month on her headstone, just the year - 2003. Over two years now, she bitterly reminded herself. Where she was now was unknown to Sydney, who had enough to wrestle with in this life, never mind the afterlife. Still, she was at peace, and a long-deserved peace at that.   
  
Once back in the car, the tears eventually stopped. Francie wouldn't want her sad or miserable, it wasn't her nature. Even in her angriest moments, any sign of tears managed to cut through her defenses. She had a life to piece back together, and Francie could no longer be a part of that life. Instead she had to hope for justice and search for peace. The night before, her father had vowed that she'd someday find it, and perhaps even a little bit of happiness. Of all the magnitude of lies and truths he had dispensed onto her soul throughout her lifetime, she wished that this one time he'd be correct.   
  
Sydney briefly wished she had a convertible, as she took the two hour drive up the coast. The traffic wasn't as heavy as she had expected, and the hotel's receptionist's directions had been perfect. Through the open windows the breeze blew, cool and clean through her nostrils. The hotel looked nice, and there was ample parking. Not many people took a sudden vacation in the middle of a week in October, but Sydney Bristow was not like other people.   
  
The on-wheels suitcase moved easily over the bump in the sidewalk. The black suitcase silently trailed her into the lobby as she looked around. It was comfortable and beautiful, not too ornate but stylish enough to impress her. A young receptionist looked up from her Irving novel and smiled. "How can I help you?"   
  
"I have a reservation?"   
  
"Name?"   
  
This had taken some creativity on her part. Truthfully she had no desire to be found, and knew her usual alias - Kate Jones - would have been a dead giveaway. With her tracking device, the CIA could find her, and that was more than enough for her. "Anne Vaughn," she answered. The name wasn't very creative, but she wouldn't mind being called Ms. Vaughn for the next three days, and Anne *was* her name. After all, didn't a middle name count as a name?   
  
"You're in room 57." The receptionist smiled brightly and handed her the keys. "Will you be paying by check or credit card?"   
  
"Cash, actually," she explained as she signed in. Given her disappearance, her checking account and credit cards had long ago been discontinued. Still, Jack Bristow had been wise enough not to touch his daughter's savings and transferred all her money from her checking account into the savings account.   
  
"Well, you can pay at check out," the girl explained. "If you need anything, the number for the desk is right on the phone, along with room service."   
  
"Thank you," she smiled and handed back over the clipboard.   
  
"Enjoy your stay in Santa Barbara!" the receptionist called out as she got into the elevator and headed towards her room.   
  
A beautiful king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room and a generic impressionist painting hung over it. There was a table with two chairs in the corner of the room, and a beautiful view of the beach. This wasn't exactly what she'd originally had in mind, but she was finally in Santa Barbara.   
  
The mattress was the most comfortable thing she'd ever felt. Whatever composed the comforter was soft and felt safe compared to the stiff, aged, soiled comforters she was used to seeing in hotels. One of her little quirks was her need to unpack her suitcase, regardless of whether she stayed for a day or a month. With her task accomplished she changed out of her clothes. Even though she'd only dressed that morning, the clothes felt dusty and uncomfortable after her cemetery visit and a prolonged car ride. As soon as she was changed, she grabbed her map and was back out the door.   
  
Her first stop of the afternoon was the Santa Barbara Zoological Gardens. The Zoo was a stop she'd debated over since she'd begun her drive earlier that morning. Eventually she decided to go, just as she had planned. On that weekday it wasn't particularly crowded, just a few sparse groups of school children that she noticed upon her arrival. There was much more there than she remembered, and she took her time studying not only the animals, but the wondrous looks on the myriad of children that passed by her. Something wonderful and innocent could be recaptured when you entered the zoo. You could swear a monkey winked at you or a snake purposely ignored you without being insane. The mind, the imagination was free to roam. Everything was beautiful and despite the fact that they were being observed, the animals were at peace.   
  
At the end of her nearly three-hour stay at the zoo, she ended up in the gift shop. Children begged for things they'd otherwise never want and certainly never need. Sydney smiled and remembered the days when her parents would take her there and she'd be just like those children. Irina and Jack were horrible at saying no to her - even in her formative years, Jack was distant but indulgent. All memories of her childhood stopped when her eyes landed on a stuffed giraffe. Instead, memories of a supposedly long-ago conversation filled her mind. Plans were made to visit the zoo, to visit Santa Barbara together, their very first trip as a couple. She purchased it minutes later without hesitation, not caring that it was nearly thirty dollars for an otherwise plain plush giraffe.   
  
She bought a hot dog from a vendor and sat on the zoo's massive lawn, struck by how alone she was. Everywhere she looked there were families, even young couples with babies in strollers, enjoying an early dinner. She swallowed her tears as she finished her hot dog. This was Santa Barbara, she was finally there, but this was not how she had wanted to see the city. Conscience of the large groups of people, of the children and families that surrounded her, she quickly returned to her car. It wasn't until a half-hour later, alone on her hotel room bed, that she cried. The tears fell for the trip they would never take, for the child they'd never have… for the best friend she'd never get back and for the naiveté that Will would never have again.   
  
That night she stared blankly at the television, watching a Drew Barrymore movie on cable and eating a cold chicken sandwich courtesy of room service. When she'd passed by her window she'd clearly seen the government issued car in the parking lot and the agents who were observing her at all hours. During the course of the movie, during laughter that sounded bitter to even her own ears, her anger slowly shifted to sadness. One of the worst aspects of growing up - and she believed you were *always* growing up, regardless of your age - was acceptance. Acceptance had never come easily to her and she knew better than to expect that it would now.   
  
Rays of sunlight splashed into the room through the curtains the next morning. Sydney rolled over on the large bed, the sound of a phone ringing, barely connecting to her brain. Lazily she reached over and picked up the phone, uncertain of whether or not she'd requested a wake up call. The night before had been a blur, she wasn't sure either way. "Hello?"   
  
"Hi." Sydney sat up in bed but made no attempt to reply. "Hello? Sydney?"   
  
"I asked for a few days," she reminded him. "I really didn't want to be found."   
  
"You didn't call Jack last night, he got worried, so he asked me -"  
  
"He asked you to what Vaughn? I have half the damn CIA outside my hotel window and the other half tracking me because of this thing on my ankle. I told Kendall and my father I needed a week to settle things. I've lost two years of my life, isn't that enough?"   
  
"Damn it, stop making me the bad guy everytime I try to -"   
  
"Try to what, do your job? I'm sorry they sent you to Hong Kong to explain, but your job is over. I'm no longer your problem."   
  
"Syd, I didn't mean it that way," he sighed.   
  
In a controlled voice she spoke, "Let my father know I'm okay and I'll call him later. Thank you." She then promptly hung up the phone.   
Santa Barbara was a beautiful place to escape her life. Part of her motives for visiting the beautiful city was to escape, to go somewhere where people didn't look at her oddly or sympathetically, where she could blend in . The beaches were beautiful and there was plenty to do. She even allowed herself a slight release in shopping. Her mind reasoned that after two years of storage, who knew what type of condition her wardrobe would be in. After that thought, it didn't seem so bad to purchase nearly a full new wardrobe. Then she made a quick stop at the hotel to shower and change. Arts & Letters Cafe was her destination for a late lunch/early dinner and she was able to eat without feeling alone.   
  
The Santa Barbara Museum of Art was a nice way to spend a late afternoon, passing by the artwork, along with occasional conversation with strangers. Art was something that had fascinated her as a child, the color and the design, and she enjoyed it again as an adult. Origins and cultures represented in the museum were vastly different. There was European and Asian work, ancient and modern, photography and antiquities. Still, all were beautiful in their own way. The design and beauty allowed her to briefly escape her life, to forget that she was still Sydney Bristow, the woman who'd lost two years.  
  
Sydney's second and last complete day in Santa Barbara was beautiful. One thing she'd been blessed with was beautiful weather and a general lack of crowds. Just as she'd promised Vaughn, she'd called her father a few times a day to let him know she was okay. While the practice was one she hadn't used since high school, she was willing to do whatever she could to ease Jack Bristow's worries. Up bright and early, she used the map to head towards her destination and spent the morning horseback riding. She'd ridden when she was younger and had enjoyed it. There was a peace between the horse and jockey, and the smell and feel of the Santa Barbara air around her was rewarding.   
  
At sunset she boarded a two-hour cruise. As the guide provided a thorough, friendly analysis and explanation of the whales and the general area, she looked around and pondered what could have happened if she had gone there two years ago with him. The views were beautiful and the smell of the ocean air was not found anywhere else on earth. Next to her an elderly woman eventually drew her into a conversation on general topics. Sydney did more listening than talking. What she discovered was that Gray Davis was somehow still governor, and George W. Bush still president. The LA Lakers had lost the 2003 NBA playoffs but gone on to win in 2004 and 2005 - a fact very important to the grandson of the woman next to her. When she'd cautiously mentioned the Kings, the man across from her eagerly jumped in, detailing the hockey teams unsuccessful attempts to assemble a successful team over the past few seasons.   
  
She departed Santa Barbara the next morning, hesitant to return to the real world but aware that she had to. During the ride she thought about Francie, about Will, and about how lucky she'd been to have them in her life. People went their whole lives without finding friends like that. Still, she'd stumbled upon them, in the midst of lies and espionage, and held on tightly. The nearly decade-long storage of memories she had with Francie would now have to last her the rest of her life. The days would still hurt, waking up and knowing that she'd never see Francie laugh at Will or gush over Kobe Bryant. Never again would she insist that Sydney needed to come down to the restaurant to try out a new recipe, or to come home to spend an entire weekend watching Ewan McGregor movies. Yet she'd always be there. Perhaps she'd romanticize the good and overlook the bad, but who didn't? In every good part of her, Sydney was certain she'd always be able to find a tiny part of Francie as well.   
  
Will remained, her steady, supportive rock. While she'd been the driving force behind his wobble from grace, the friendship they had was still intact after two years. He'd be there and would understand in ways that no one else could. The words he'd spoken a year - three years before, she instantly corrected herself - had stood true. Their friendship was the encompassing definition of what a real friendship should be. He loved her, no questions asked, and the love she felt towards him extended the same way. Their bond had survived through good and bad, and there was no evidence to suggest it would ever falter.   
  
Many mysteries still remained, and might remain for the rest of her life. Hypno-regression therapy and counseling would help her regain and piece together her memories. Still, the best CIA agents might never discover where Arvin Sloane and her mother were, or just what they were trying to achieve. The lab was still looking into more of her medical results, to find out whether or not she'd ever actually had a child, a concept that terrified her. When Jack had pointed out that she had no stretch marks, Doctor Nichols had feebly remarked that there were techniques to do away with such things if necessary. The most important question was *why*? Who would want to take her away for two years? Wouldn't Sloane use her a pawn and contact the CIA to get Sark back? Instead there'd been nothing, no contacts or signs, and still no answers as to why.   
  
  
  
  
  
Sydney arrived back at her father's house late Sunday afternoon. Rose directed her to the back deck, taking her bags and insisting that she go see her father. The screen door slid silently open as she stepped out and saw her father out there, staring out at the lawn and the start of the sunset. "How was Santa Barbara?" he asked, not bothering to look at her as she joined him.   
  
"Beautiful," she smiled.   
  
"Thursday the thirteenth," Jack informed her of the directions as he adjusted the wheelchair so he could face at her.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Kendall booked you an appointment for Thursday at one with Doctor Vaughn."   
  
The smile disappeared as she pursed her lips. "I see."   
  
"Doctor Vaughn is also suggesting that you and Agent Vaughn have a joint session in the near future, to discuss the medical team's…" he searched for a word. "Their findings."   
  
All she did in response was silently nod. "Would you like to go to the movies?"   
  
Jack's eyes searched hers curiously. "Pardon me?"   
  
"The movies. It's been years - literally - since I've been to the movies," she joked as he cracked a hint of a smile. Sydney's ability to joke about her ordeal could only be taken as a good sign. "I don't want to just sit around here. We haven't done anything together, other than eat dinner, in a long time."   
  
She watched her father's mind at work for a moment before he nodded. "Let me go inform Rose that we won't be eating dinner," he called as he wheeled himself into the house.   
  
  
  
  
  
The order made its belated arrival on Michael Vaughn's desk Sunday afternoon. Becky had plans to go out with her mother that day, so he'd taken the opportunity to go get some extra work done. With Sydney's reappearance came a large amount of work. Analysts were working double overtime, researching *everything* they could find that could be construed as new evidence. In this new assignment, he and Jack Bristow had been put in charge of reviewing the evidence and the excruciating process of putting it together. The new pieces were miniscule with jagged angles, seemingly impossible to match up and make sense of. There was a bigger picture there, the entire team knew it, but it was difficult to find it when the pieces were all in shards of glass in a pile of hay.  
  
He'd been finishing up on his latest debrief when an ambitious intern dropped a folder onto his desk and then carried on her merry way. When he examined the contents of the file he was barely able to contain his outrage. Any thought of continuing his other work went out the window. This was pressing, and his anger was rising. He'd hurried through the remainder of his work before he went home.   
  
  
  
Michael picked up the ambrosial scent of the evening's dinner from the hallway. The steps were deliberate as he approached the familiar door, shot his keys in the lock and entered. From the kitchen he heard her scramble to turn down Bach and her distant voice calling her greeting. Vaughn sidestepped a sleepy Donovan and tossed his coat over the sofa before he entered the kitchen. "I told you I had no interest in discussing Sydney's pregnancy or disappearance with her in a joint session."   
  
Becky looked up from the stove to calmly meet his gaze. "You received my recommendation?"   
  
"Suggestion? Damn it Becky, Kendall's going to sign off and it's going to become an order! I asked you to not pursue this and you did it anyway!"   
  
"You both need to talk about this -"  
  
"We will!" he snapped. "There's no need for us to discuss it together, to dredge up memories that have no point in being brought up. You had absolutely no right -"   
  
"I had every right Michael, it's my job."   
  
"Then you should have told me," he hissed. "When did you complete the recommendation? Friday? You've known about this and yet you chose not to tell me."   
  
"I thought we had an agreement not to discuss work at home."   
  
"This is different! This is not about two separate cases we're working on, or someone else's patient-client privilege! This involves *me*! My life!"   
  
"Michael I don't want to upset you, but I also think that perhaps you should be reassigned."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"You're close to this case, everyone knows it. They let you and Jack Bristow remain on this case because you're both superb at what you do. Still, I think you're starting to lose your objectivity."   
  
"Objectivity?" Becky watched his eyebrows rise as he impatiently waited for her response.   
  
"Yes," she nodded. "You've lived and breathed this case for nearly two years. Yes, you've been assigned to work in other areas but you've still always found time to do unsanctioned work to find Sydney. Even when you thought you'd just find a body, you never gave up looking for her. Your determination is one of the things I admire most about you, but I don't want to see you hurt because of it."   
  
"Both you and Kendall can reassign me else where but I will find some way to be a part of this investigation," his voice was low as he gave his warning.   
  
"Yes," she sighed. "I know, which is the only reason that I'm *not* going to recommend you be placed elsewhere. I'd rather know where you are and that you're in danger than to have to worry about where you'd sneak off to," she conceded. Michael grinned his thanks as she took his hand. "You're getting too old to be doing this," she worried. Absently she ran her thumb over the top of his hand while his grin disappeared.   
  
"Jack Bristow was in the field well into his fifties."   
  
"Look where that got him," she pointed out. "Michael -" she started as he dropped her hand.   
  
"I'm thirty seven years old and I've been with the CIA for over a decade. When I started there… my father's case was the only case that really mattered to me." The desperate undertone was obvious in his soft-spoken words as she nodded. "This case… this case is more personal to me. I was eight when I lost my Dad, but I never blamed myself. This time, I blame myself."   
  
"Michael, you can't -"   
  
"I can," he stopped her. "A damn debrief that I could have rescheduled or not gone to. I should have gone into that house that night. I never should have let her get out of that car. Hell, I was practically living with Francie's double, I should have known… I should have done something different…" he trailed off, the tears welling in his eyes.   
  
Silently, she took his hand again, her thumb once again soothing the top of his hand. Cautiously she rested her head against his chest, the rest of their bodies untouching. Becky could imagine his eyes shutting, his mind racing with so many 'what ifs' that it would take a lifetime to list them all. "It's okay," she whispered to his solid form. "It's going to be okay," she vowed as she felt a tear splash down onto the crown of her hair.   
  
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A/N: So, what do you guys think? Let me know - your reviews, e-mails, etc., really do make my day! Oh, yeah, if you live in Santa Barbara and I'm totally off, I'm very sorry - I live in Connecticut, I've never been farther west then Ohio. Hey, the Yankees won (whipped their butts) last nigt & Derek was 1-4 in his minor league game! yay!! oh, and mere days to the WNBA season!! okay . . anyway, please review :) You guys are the best. 


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
Dedication: To Meg, who unlike all of you, is forced to live with me :)   
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The most vivid memory he had was October 1, 2001. The day he had a broken watch and an instinct. If someone had told him on that day that he'd be married in four years and it *wouldn't* be to the woman across from him with the bozo hair and bloody mouth, he wouldn't have believed them. He'd never been cynical enough to completely disregard the concept of love at first sight, but until then he had thought it was necessary to actually know a person's natural hair color before such things could occur. Sydney Bristow, quick as a whip and just as brutal, had proven him wrong. Even while his head had debated whether or not the woman in front of him was insane, his heart would have none of it.   
  
Four years and ten days later, he walked into the CIA building to begin another full week at work. During the course of the day he felt as though Dixon, Will and Jack were avoiding him. The four of them had formed a bond over the two years since her disappearance. While he wouldn't classify it as a friendship, they easily carried on discussions and were there when he or any one of the others was going through a tough spot. Still, he continued on with his work, relieved when Will approached him at the end of the day to discuss the possibility of going to a Lakers game sometime soon.   
  
On his way towards his car at the conclusion of the day, he was surprised to hear Jack Bristow call his name. Michael made the courtesy and approached the man. "I thought you should be made aware that Kendall plans on bringing Sydney in Wednesday."   
  
"I thought she requested a week, that's only six days."   
  
"Yes, well, this is Kendall, six days is a gift," Jack reminded him as he nodded. "She'll also be seeing your wife on Thursday."   
  
"I know." He brushed the underside of his nose and studied a grease stain on the parking lot wall. "Becky also wants us to go to a joint session."   
  
"Frankly I'm not sure if that's a good idea or not," the older agent conceded. "Sydney has yet to express her opinion on such matters."   
  
Finally he met Jack's gaze, "How is she?"   
  
"She returned from Santa Barbara last night," he explained as the younger man's face creased. "Sydney's a strong woman, she'll come through this."   
  
"Has she . . ."   
  
"No, she hasn't mentioned you," he answered.  
  
"I'd like to be at her hypno-regression sessions," Vaughn confessed. The idea of her going through all of that with just an uninvolved therapist to support her clenched his heart.  
  
"I'm doubting my daughter will agree to that."   
  
"Then you should be there," he corrected. "Someone should be there. Whatever she does or doesn't uncover, she shouldn't go through it alone."   
  
"Yes, I agree," he nodded. "I'll suggest it to her."   
  
"Does she need anything?"   
  
"Today she planned to go through her belongings… Sort through things… I suspect she wants to be alone right now."   
  
Vaughn was silent as he nodded. "I should get going," he realized as he shook hands with the older man.   
  
"Have a good night Agent Vaughn," Jack called as Vaughn waved, got into his car and drove away.   
  
  
  
  
  
The half a dozen boxes that Will and Dixon had removed from storage for her were mostly familiar. She recognized her handwriting when she'd first moved into the apartment so many years ago. They had removed the more practical items, her clothes and a box of books and music. Since she was currently living in her father's house, there was very little room to put her belongings, but she had managed to make room in the empty closet for her clothes and arrange the music and books in the room as well. Finally she was left with one small purple box. It was barely bigger than a hatbox, and she didn't recall ever owning it. Getting comfortable on the bed, she lifted the slight weight into her lap and pulled off the top.   
  
Whoever had packed it had obviously done so with caution and care. At the top of the box, resting on a pile of purple tissue paper, was a faded ticket stub. Even though the words were difficult to make out, she recognized it. It had been her ticket to the first - and only - Kings game they had gone to see together. After that was cautiously placed to the side, she unfolded the tissue paper. A slight pool of tears swam into her eyes as she cautiously picked up the item. The silver picture frame had been the first gift he'd ever given her, and before her disappearance she'd placed a photo of the two of them in it. They were obviously shivering, but grinning like fools. Weiss had taken the photo outside of the Staples Center as they had anxiously waited for Francie, Will, and Amy Tippin to arrive for the aforementioned Kings game. It was the first photo she had of the two of them, and it only seemed appropriate to put it in the frame.   
  
Underneath the frame, which she hesitantly set to rest on her night table, was a familiar hockey puck. Sydney laughed, suddenly aware of how many hockey-related events they had attended outside of work. He'd given her the puck after she'd seen him play for the first time. At first he'd been embarrassed when he handed her the round, black object he'd used to win the game, but his complexion had quickly cleared when she kissed and thanked him. Next to the puck was the cork from the bottle of wine that they had shared on their first night together. On the side of it she had written the date, 2/6/03 - it had been a Thursday. So recently in her time, yet over two years in real time.   
  
The last items were two packets of pictures that showed the two of them, and a few with Will and Francie as well. Slowly she flipped through them, clearly remembering the story and event behind every snapshot. Their joy had been as obvious as their smitten expressions. Whenever they had been around one another, the wrinkles on his forehead seemed to disappear and her dimples were impossible to hide. The only thing that confused her was that there was only one copy of each photo, no doubles or negatives, and she *always* got doubles.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Dad?" she tentatively addressed him over dinner. The meal had been eaten in relative silence, and Jack looked up from his plate in surprise. "Will and Dixon… They brought over a purple box… It's obviously important, or else they never would have bothered with it…"   
  
"Yes, Sydney?"   
  
"I was wondering, I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember who packed that box?"   
  
"Yes." He looked down at his food. "I remember it very clearly. Agent Vaughn put that box together, and even insisted on driving it to the storage facility on his own."   
  
"Why didn't he keep it?"   
  
"Whatever was in that box Sydney, Agent Vaughn obviously felt it belonged to you and only you." Sydney nodded as Jack continued, "Do you have sufficient clothing?"   
  
"Dixon and Will were great, I have more then I could wear in a year," she smiled. "I did some shopping in Santa Barbara too, so I'm fine."   
  
"Will you be ready for Wednesday?"  
  
"Kendall wants me back, it's my job," she shrugged. "I'll be fine."   
  
"If it's an issue Sydney, I can arrange for your time to be extended."   
  
"No," her head shook. "I need to do this. The sooner I get past this, the sooner I can move on. I need to move on… I know it won't be easy, but I have to do it."   
  
"You'll do well Sydney. You've undergone hypno-regression therapy before and it's been proven effective."   
  
"I'm concerned," she admitted. "Not that it won't work, I *know* it will work. I'm just worried about what we'll find."   
  
"Have you considered who you will take with you?" Jack cautiously asked. The confusion was obvious on his daughter's face as he carried on. "Don't you think it'd be a wise move to bring someone there to… support you?"   
  
Silently her father was pleased with himself for making a useful suggestion on an issue that she obviously hadn't considered. There was so little Jack could do to assist his daughter, she was more then capable of taking care of herself. While he couldn't imagine being as proud of anyone as he was of Sydney, there were moments when he enjoyed being able to offer her a little direction or comfort. Due to no one's fault but his own, those moments were scarce but still meaningful.   
  
After an extended silence, Sydney finally spoke. "Would you be there?"   
  
"Yes," he nodded. "If you'd like me to be, I will."   
  
"Thank you," she smiled.   
  
The next evening Sydney spent out with Marshall, Carrie and Will. The three went out for pizza - Carrie's latest craving - and caught up. The young couple beamed in one another's presence, and the usually bubbling Marshall wore an uncharacteristic sense of calm in his wife's presence. Over pepperoni and garbage pizza ("It's not actually garbage, it's just a lot of different toppings," Marshall had felt the need to explain) they laughed and made easy conversation. Even though they obviously stuck to neutral, simple topics of conversation for her sake, she was just relieved to have the opportunity to enjoy an evening out with friends. One last hurrah before she was set to report to work the next morning.   
  
No one was more surprised than Sydney, when Will arrived the next morning at the Bristow home for breakfast. More surprising, was that her father's reaction bordered on pleased when he saw the young man. Rose served a delicious breakfast before her friend offered to drive her to work. Jack explained that he would be going into work late and wished his daughter and Will a good day as they departed.   
  
  
  
  
  
"How are you doing Agent Bristow?" Kendall met her at her desk. It was in the same location that it had always been, although she was certain an agent had to be relocated for her benefit. A quick glance around the room told her that Vaughn had yet to arrive and she made a mental note to avoid him.   
  
"I'm good," she smiled.   
  
"I'd like to talk to you about your mother."   
  
The smile she had recently forced to her face quickly disappeared. "What about her?"   
  
"There are… ways of insuring that the enemy knows what you want them to know. We'd like to make it known that you're back."   
  
"What purpose would that serve?"   
  
"Well Agent Bristow we're hoping that your mother will show a bit of her maternal side and contact us."   
  
"You're assuming my mother *has* a maternal side."   
  
He shrugged and nodded his chin, a habit that had always annoyed her and reminded her of a dead fish. "There is some precedent to believe that she might."   
  
"What does my father say about this?"   
  
"I haven't mentioned it to him yet."   
  
"I think you should," she calmly suggested.   
  
"Agent Bristow, I am going to use your return to help us track down your mother. I just wanted you to know that, so you need to expect possible contact."   
  
"For all we know my mother could have had something to do with my disappearance!"   
  
"Well that's just a risk we have to take. This is just a courtesy Agent Bristow, I'm not asking for your permission," he reminded her. Then he turned and left her speechless at her desk.   
  
  
  
  
  
The careful science of avoiding Vaughn was more delicate then she'd assumed. There was plenty of work to keep her busy. Piles of paperwork still needed to be filled out, reviewed and then signed. She'd also made a request to read all the files that the CIA had on her disappearance. As a former literature major, Sydney could read faster than most people, but the three massive folders even gave her, cause to be slightly intimidated.  
  
At the beginning of the day she'd made a choice to fill out the necessary paperwork before she read what she'd requested. Whatever information she could give the CIA, and whatever she signed off on, she wanted it to be based on what *she* remembered. If she read what they had sent her, it was inevitable that her memories would be slightly tainted by the stories of others. Once she'd finished a stale egg salad sandwich in the cafeteria with Will, Weiss, Carrie and Marshall she got focused on her reading.   
  
Every investigative form was signed off on either by Jack, Vaughn or Eric's hand. Nearly every analytical report had been completed by Will, even though they didn't start until nearly two weeks after her disappearance. Given the state he'd been in when she'd last seen him at the apartment, she could only assume that he'd completed his work from his hospital bed. The first folder was dedicated to only the first ten days she'd been gone. After that, the information crept in slower, and they covered the next nearly twenty-four months in two folders. The photos were disturbing. Images of bloodstains and the body of Francie's double. Eventually she even came across a grotesque photo of the decomposing body of the real Francie. There was even a copy of the autopsy report, that stated Francie had died in late January 2003 from a close-range bullet to the brain - she'd died instantly.   
  
Pages and pages were dedicated to their 'investigation' of Vaughn. The questions ranged from work related to personal. The disciplinary committee eventually let him off the hook with a temporary downgrade of his security clearance. They had determined that whatever 'inappropriate' relationship they might have shared, it wasn't until *after* she was no longer his asset. Plus, their relationship had not negatively affected the quality of their work or interfered with those around them. It was her father's signature at the bottom of the page that freed Vaughn of any suspicion.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Kendall's an ass," Jack assured her at the end of the day. Will had to stay late to work on a report, so Jack had suggested they ride back to the house together.   
  
"I see he told you about his plan to try to draw mom in."   
  
"Your mother will see through this sham. I doubt she'll contact you, if she hasn't already had you in her care for the last two years," Jack shot as the driver helped him into the car.   
  
"I don't appreciate his desire to use me as a pawn," she agreed and snapped her seatbelt into place. "I'm going to go home directly after my session tomorrow."   
  
"I'll take care of Kendall."   
  
"Dad," she sighed and looked out the dark-tinted windows. "I don't think he's going to be held back on this."   
  
"Sydney you must remember that Director Kendall is my superior on paper only."   
  
A smile crossed her face at her father's insinuation. Even in his physical state, she had no doubt that he could still kill a man with a well-placed finger. He was still intimidating, and she swore she still saw agents take extra precautions to avoid walking in his path. "Marshall and Carrie are going to give the baby Sydney as a middle name," she grinned.   
  
That even forced a smile onto his stony features. A small smile, but still a smile. "Virginia Sydney Flinkman… It certainly is an interesting name."   
  
She smiled and nodded. In the back of her mind she imagined what could have happened if she'd had a child with Vaughn, or what might have happened if she *remembered*. Sydney had always been fond of the name Megan …   
  
"Sydney?" Her daydreams puffed away at her father's voice. "Sydney, have you given any thought to what would happen if your mother did choose to make contact? Whether you want to or not you'll end up back in the field for at least a short amount of time."   
  
"It's going to take time before she even hears that I'm back, if she ever finds out. If she does, it'll be to trade me for Sark," she sighed.   
  
"Sydney, did you believe that Sark was still in our custody?" Jack was truly baffled as his daughter met his eyes.   
  
"You said he was transferred to Camp Harris after he stonewalled."   
  
"You didn't believe he actually *remained* there, did you?" He looked mildly amused. "He escaped almost a year ago, shortly after his transfer to the camp."   
  
"That bastard," she muttered with a glare out the window.   
  
After an extended silence he spoke, "Sydney?"   
  
Her head nodded and looked over at him. "I'm going to be fine."   
  
"There's always evidence Sydney, we just need to find it."   
  
  
  
  
  
Sydney hated Thursdays. The only purpose they served was for 'Friends', a television show that had ended its long run the previous television season. Now she didn't even have that to look forward to on that horrible day. The only bright spot was her father's promise that Kendall would give her no difficulty when she left after her hypno-regression therapy.   
  
That morning she had gone through the motions. Brush teeth, shower, brush hair and change. While she applied her makeup in the natural early morning light, she was struck by the desire to call Francie. Her best friend had randomly appeared in her mind and she closed her eyes. This time there were no tears, just a sad throbbing in her heart. Francie would put an optimistic spin on things, convince her that everything would turn out for the best and she'd be okay. Before she left for the day, she paused to slip on the earrings that had somehow ended up with her belongings but had been Francie's favorite.   
  
Sydney's government-issued car trailed her father's on the ride to work that day. To no great surprise there had been nothing across echelon or any direct contact from her mother, Sark or Sloane. Throughout the day she stayed busy, even falling back on playing solitaire for awhile to ease her nerves. Lunch was eaten in the cafeteria with Dixon, Will, Marshall and Carrie. Carrie was sweet and the more she knew her, the more Sydney began to like her. Her personality was infectious, her little quirks endearing, and it was easy to see how she was a perfect match for the often overwhelmed Marshall.   
  
  
  
  
  
Will took the opportunity to walk her to the hypno-regression therapy office and wished her luck. Left alone, she twisted the doorknob and walked in, the familiar equipment and the all-too-familiar doctor greeting her. Becky turned at the sound of the doorknob and smiled at Sydney. "Agent Bristow, how are you today?"   
  
"I'd like to get started."   
  
"Certainly." She waved a hand towards the chair. It took all of Sydney's strength not to flinch when Becky helped her put on the necessary materials and get comfortable. Once she was settled the redhead took a seat across from her with a sympathetic smile. "I know you're aware of this, but I feel I should warn you that this could and in your situation will, likely have a negative impact. Nightmares, depression, flashbacks…"   
  
"I'm aware of the consequences Doctor Vaughn," she assured her. "I have to know," she explained as she glanced at the mirror on the wall. Even a civilian would know it was where she assumed her father was looking in from.   
  
In the observation room, Jack and Will stood still as stones as Sydney spoke. Both men looked over as the door clicked open and Michael Vaughn stepped in. "Has she gone under yet?" he asked softly. Awkwardly, he stuffed his hands in his pockets as the other men nodded.   
  
"Agent Vaughn, are you sure being here is a good idea?" Jack asked. For once his tone was not accusing. Perhaps it even bordered on concern.   
  
"I have to be here," he explained. Will conveyed his understanding with a silent nod as the eldest agent relented with a silent sigh.   
  
Through the window they watched Sydney, the electrodes on her forehead and her eyes closed. Becky's soft voice was the only detectable sound, barely louder than their silent breath. "I'm going to count back from three. When I get to one, I want you to tell me where you are," she soothed. Vaughn swallowed back his fears as his wife began. "3… 2… 1…"   
  
"I see myself," she spoke in a low voice. All three men exchanged silent glances before they returned their attention to Sydney. "I'm not in my apartment… I'm still covered in blood. Someone has tied me down to some sort of dentist's chair…"   
  
"Do you recognize where you are?"   
  
"I… I can't see well enough," she conceded. "Maybe a warehouse or a basement… I don't think I've been here before."   
  
"Is anyone with you? Do you see anyone?"   
  
"A man I don't recognize… He's the one tying me down…" she trailed off, but then her nostrils visibly flared.  
  
"Sydney, who is it?"   
  
"Sloane."   
  
The three men shared troubled but not surprised looks of concern.   
  
"What is he doing?"   
  
"He says that he warned me, I should have stayed out of it… That the result of my foolish behavior has forced a slight delay in the plan…" she trailed off as a tear ran down her face.   
  
"Sydney?"   
  
"I ask him to stop… I told him to… I couldn't stop him… I scream, but no one hears me… He doesn't care, he never did… I keep screaming… I just want someone to save me… My father… Vaughn… I know they're all looking for me, but no one's here to stop him."   
  
One tear turned into two, before both eyes welled and a steady stream poured down her skin. Behind the glass Vaughn anxiously swiped the bottom of his nose. Will was outraged as he turned to Jack, "Isn't this enough?" he demanded. Then his blue eyes met Vaughn's. "What the hell is your wife trying to pull in there?"   
  
"Becky's just doing her job," he defended her in an even tone.   
  
Back in the session room the doctor calmly continued her task. "What did Sloane do to you?"   
  
"He shot me."   
  
"With a gun?" she asked. Hastily she flipped through her notes, certain there had been no sign of a bullet wound on Agent Bristow's body.   
  
"An injection," the patient corrected. "He says my condition could jeopardize his project, and he won't let me do that."   
  
"What condition?"   
  
"He says…" she paused to control her tears, as loose strands of hair clung to her red, sweaty face. "He says I was pregnant."   
  
"Did you believe him?"   
  
"Of course I didn't believe him!" she snapped. "He's done nothing but lie to me since the day I met him! He's ruined my life!"   
  
"What happened after he gave you the injection?"   
  
"He left. I wasn't alone… They kept asking me these questions… About Rambaldi, where the CIA kept their artifacts… About what happened to Francie's double…" she trailed off as the tears started to pool again.   
  
"You're safe now Sydney, remember that, no one's going to let him hurt you again," she soothed. "Take a deep breath, remember this is in the past, you're safe now. You're home and you're safe," she gently spoke. "What happened after they asked you the questions."   
  
"I started to bleed," she sniffled.   
  
"Did they hurt you?"   
  
"No," her head shook. "I started to bleed and I knew he hadn't lied… For once in his awful, wasted life he hadn't lied."   
  
"Who hadn't lied Sydney?"  
  
"Sloane," she answered.   
  
The short but powerful session drew to a close. Gently, Becky brought her out of the hypnotic state. The words they shared were too soft for the men to hear as she handed Sydney a box of tissues. The redhead then gently squeezed the brunette's shoulder and disappeared from the room. Seconds later the doctor stepped into the room. "Agent Bristow, Mr. Tippin, you can go see Sydney," she assured them. Will politely trailed Jack out of the room, leaving the couple in the room alone. "I didn't know you'd be here," she said cautiously.  
  
"I just… I needed to be here," he conceded. As she put finishing touches on her notes and signed off on them for the day, he openly watched through the window. Both Will and Jack hugged Sydney, and she seemed to have stopped her tears.   
  
"Michael…" Her small hand appeared on his arm. The slight movement caused him to draw his attention to his wife. "Are you okay?"   
  
"What's going to happen to her now?"   
  
"She has a lot of painful things she needs to get past… There's probably a lot more we have left to discover. But I can't get past it for her, and neither can you Michael."   
  
His green eyes were drawn back to observe the room. The three still remained. Sydney held her father's hand as Will stood on her other side, his arm draped over her shoulder. He couldn't hear what she was saying, and frankly he wasn't sure if he wanted to. The only thing that reassured him in the slightest, was her skin returning to its normal shade and her tears had dried. Eventually he answered his wife, aware of the answer but still despising it. "I know."   
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A/N: Please review. Also please a couple people mention my sister in the reviews, that makes her really really happy when I tell her. If you want to read some of Meg's stuff, she's listed in my favorite authors - she's great if your into poetry.   
Yeah, if I e-mail you privately and call you a dork, it means I'm nuts about you :) The bigger the dork, the better. My Daddy & Meg are the biggest dorks I know, and the people I love the most :) Go figure. 


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
Dedication: Happy birthday to my favorite (okay, only, but who needs two when you have the best to begin with?) beta Linda :)   
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"I think you should sleep over at my place tomorrow night."  
  
Sydney's eyebrows rose as she glanced over her food at Will. "A sleep over? What are we, fifteen?"   
  
"It'll be fun Syd!" he insisted. After her stressful afternoon with Doctor Vaughn, Will had insisted they go out to an early dinner together. They'd driven around Los Angeles for nearly two hours before Sydney softly suggested Francie's restaurant. The decor hadn't changed, something that was a pleasant surprise, and most of the staff was still the same. Will had done a fabulous job of running the restaurant to fulfill Francie's dream. She'd squeezed his hand and insisted that their friend would have been proud of him.   
  
"So what would we do on this sleepover?"   
  
"You can have the bed, I'll be a gentleman," he vowed. "We can rent movies and pig out."   
  
"Hey, what about the last season of Friends? Can we rent that? I want to see what happens!"   
  
"I have a few episodes on tape," he laughed. "What is it with you and that show?"   
  
She shrugged, a piece of hair casually landing on her shoulder. "Matthew Perry's cute."   
  
Will laughed as she grinned. "We could go for a jog Saturday morning then."   
  
"I don't know, I'm not sure if I'd be able to keep up with you. I literally don't remember the last time I took a jog."   
  
"I know," he smirked. "I might actually be faster than you this time."   
  
Playfully she balled up a napkin and tossed it at him. "Quit trying to make me look bad."   
  
"That's impossible Syd." Sydney smiled at his insistence and picked at her food. "Hey, we could rent that movie with Ben Affleck," he offered.  
  
"Which one?"   
  
"The one where he played that blind comic book character… I can't think of the name of it," he shook his head. "Didn't you want to see it though?"   
  
"No. I think that was you. Something about the 'hot girl' - your words, not mine," she reminded him with a grin. "I wanted to see that movie with Robin Williams."   
  
"There are hundreds of those Syd."   
  
"The freaky one. The one with the picture place?"   
  
"Yeah, I've seen that one," he remembered. "The guy who plays the husband annoys me, but we could get it."   
  
"I think he's cute."   
  
Will's eyes widened, "Robin Williams?"   
  
"No," she laughed. "The actor who plays the husband."   
  
"So we'll rent those and then we can dedicate another weekend to 'Friends'."   
  
"Sounds good," she agreed. Sydney's cell phone echoed from its resting-place, before they could continue the conversation. Obviously annoyed, she reached into her jacket and pulled it out. "Hello?"   
  
"Agent Bristow, this is Director Kendall. You failed to make an appointment to see Doctor Vaughn again."   
  
Sydney barely stifled a sigh, "I didn't realize -"   
  
"I'm aware that you're displeased with Doctor Vaughn's personal life, but this is about more than your mere comfort. Don't forget that you're damn lucky to be outside of a room in medical services. Strictly speaking Agent Bristow, you're a threat to national security."   
  
Will mouthed the word 'Kendall' and she nodded. Even if she did recall her two years, she was certain she'd never miss Kendall. "I'm sorry," she spoke tightly.   
  
"Save your apologies Agent Bristow. You're to go see Doctor Vaughn Tuesday afternoon for a counseling session. From there we'll schedule your next hypno-regression session."   
  
"Thank you," she said as he hung up on her.   
  
"That man…"   
  
"Nice to know his bedside manner hasn't changed, isn't it?" Will pointed out, as she laughed.   
  
"I know he's obviously good at what he does, or he still wouldn't be doing it," she reasoned. "Still, he doesn't have to be so…"   
  
"Callous Syd. That's the only nice thing to say about the guy. He's callous and the light doesn't glare off of his head."  
She laughed at her friend's apt description. "He's just doing his job Will. One thing I've learned doing this is that if you can find some good in a situation you ignore the bad. As long as he does his job well, that's all that matters."   
  
"Being my boss doesn't give him the right to be a pain in the ass."   
  
"Will, you were a journalist. You *must* have had editors more annoying than Kendall."   
  
"Yeah, but that guy's scary Syd."   
  
"You said the same thing about my Father a few years ago."   
  
"Your Father has a softer side Syd. It's not one he likes to show, or even really shows unless necessary, but I don't think Kendall *has* a softer side."   
  
"Just do your job and he won't give you any trouble," she suggested.   
  
Will nodded and added soberly, "Syd, I don't like the guy, but I do respect him. Kendall did everything he could to find you, and it was without your father being on his ass the entire time."   
  
Sydney nodded and forced a small smile at her friend. "What's she like?"   
  
"Syd…" he sighed the familiar nickname.   
  
"I need to know. I just… I need to know that she's taking care of him."   
  
"I don't know her that well," he conceded as he ordered another beer. If he was going to tell his best friend the worst news of her life, he didn't want to remember doing it. "I was at the wedding, and I met her a few times…" he fumbled for the right words. "She's a nice person," he shrugged. "Friendly, sort of distant but warm. Your typical psychologist. A fine person Syd, but she's not you," he added as a small smile graced her features. "You should also know that your Dad and I… We ran a background check on her, when he first started to see her…"   
  
"She came up clean?"   
  
"A few traffic tickets in college and a warning when she was eighteen for speeding, but nothing else."   
  
"You're *sure*?" she pressed on, anxiety twisting her pretty features.   
  
"She has no ulterior motive Syd," he sighed. "I almost wish she did."   
  
"No," she shook her head. "He doesn't deserve to go through that."   
  
"Even after all he's putting you through now?" he shot back.   
  
"He still doesn't deserve that," she softly insisted.   
  
"You just want him to be happy."   
  
"Isn't that what you want for your friends? For them to be happy?"   
  
"Yes," he sighed. "What did Kendall want?"   
  
"I have to go back to the therapist on Tuesday."   
  
"Another regression session?"  
  
"No. This time it's just counseling."   
  
"I could come down to the office and be with you."   
  
She smiled at his offer, "I think I need to do this alone. Thank you though," she squeezed his hand.   
  
"We're on for tomorrow night then?"   
  
"I can't wait," she showed him her dimples as their dessert was served.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
As much as Jack would have enjoyed his daughter's company Friday night, he was glad to see she was going out again. Sydney was not a social butterfly, but time with her friends could only be beneficial to her recovery. That was something he was sure even Dr. Becky Vaughn would agree on. Still, he wished she would stop sidestepping Agent Vaughn. Throughout her days at work, he had observed the small steps she'd take to insure that she didn't see him. To a casual observer it would have been a coincidence, but Jack, as a father and an agent, knew better.   
  
Will and Sydney had run into Carrie and Marshall at the restaurant over Friday dinner. The four had sat together as Marshall gave a long-winded description of some of his newest inventions and Carrie openly beamed at him. Sydney was an eager audience for their upcoming baby plans, even though a small ache resonated through her soul at the thought of all she had lost. Carrie was just as sweet as Marshall, and the two had a lot of common interests to discuss. Even though they had stayed at the restaurant later then anticipated, she was smiling widely as they walked towards the video store.   
  
The two friends stayed up until nearly dusk watching movies and telling stories. For the first time since her reappearance, she was able to tell and hear stories about Francie. Laughter bubbled from her instead of teary pools in her eyes. There were still so many good memories, and being with Will reminded her of that. If the two of them didn't remember her and laugh, what was the point of all of it? As long as she was still in their conversations and memories, she would never completely leave them.   
  
Sydney was a few steps behind her usual pace on their Saturday morning jog, but her speed wouldn't have been considered slow. The park was just beginning to welcome people as they ran through. Families sat having breakfast on picnic blankets and friends stood playing catch or tossing Frisbees. Conversation swam back and forth between the two of them as he led her on the path he had perfected in her absence. To her amazement, people seemed to recognize him, waving or calling out his name in greeting. With a few young, pretty girls among those who knew him, she took the opportunity to tease him good-naturedly. The color that rose onto his face was priceless.   
  
Over breakfast Sunday morning she scoured the classifieds in search of an apartment for rent. Jack repeatedly reminded her that she was welcome there for as long as she wanted and came as close as he could to admitting he wanted her there. Still, she wanted a place of her own, even if she did visit her father more often. There needed to be a place where she could go to just be alone, to be with her belongings and her thoughts without expectations. A new apartment, her *own* apartment, was a necessity on the road back to achieving the only brand of normalcy she'd ever known.   
  
"I could ask my landlord if there's anything open in my building," Will offered. They sat at a table in the CIA cafeteria with Carrie, Marshall and Dixon the following afternoon.   
  
"I think there are a few openings at my sister's complex," Carrie chimed in. "It's near the beach too, great view."   
  
"Thanks guys," she smiled. "I'm not sure how much I'll be able to use for a down payment… I mean, my Dad was really careful about *not* using my money, and I've made some interest…"   
  
"Your father's in no hurry to get rid of you," Dixon reminded her.   
  
"I need my own place. I haven't lived with him in a long time."   
  
"Maybe staying with him isn't such a bad idea," Carrie gently added. "I know that you two have your differences, but you're going through a difficult time right now. So is he. The past two years… They've been hell for him," she softly explained. "I agree that it's important for you to get a new place, but just don't be in such a rush."   
  
"I won't," she smiled. "I promise."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tuesday Sydney stepped into work determined to make her upcoming session with Dr. Vaughn a success. The sooner the CIA was content with all she could tell him, the faster she could rid herself of Dr. Vaughn. A shower, a quick breakfast with her father and then she was out the door, mindful not to bring up her afternoon appointment. Jack Bristow was not a man who forgot easily. Surely he remembered that his daughter was seeing the doctor that afternoon, but he was tactful enough not to mention it. Sydney had been through enough and he was not going to be the one to address the wounds she was desperately trying to lick away.   
  
There had been no development over the weekend with her mother or Sark. One contact in Moscow thought he had spotted Sark, but when Kendall sent a team it turned out to be a false call. Jack had stepped in to defend Kendall when Sydney's anger rose. In his words, it was foolish to contact her at every little lead, particularly when a majority of them would go nowhere and she was just beginning to move past her ordeal.  
  
Her modest high heels made no sound on the plush carpet as she approached Dr. Vaughn's office. As a result of listening to another one of Marshall's long-winded explanations, she was running a few minutes behind schedule. Briefly she wondered if she should have called the doctor to tell her that she'd be a few moments late. The last thing she needed was for Becky to cause her more trouble because she was a few seconds late for a mandatory meeting.   
  
She knocked three times in rapid succession on the door. Muffled by the door that stood between them, she heard the doctor tell her to come in. One step into the room she paused. "I'm sorry, I must have mixed up our time." Sydney forced a polite smile as she saw that Vaughn already waited on the sofa. The relief to her soul was minimal when she noticed he looked as surprised as she felt.   
  
"No Agent Bristow, this is the right time. Come on in."   
  
Vaughn glared at his wife for a moment, then tried to be subtle as he watched Sydney join him on the sofa. As expected, she sat as far away from him as she could without toppling over. Whether the distance was for her own benefit or that of his wife, he wasn't sure. "How have you been feeling since we last met Agent Bristow? Any nightmares? Trouble sleeping?"   
  
"I've been fine."   
  
Becky nodded, made a slight note on her clipboard and sat back. "I asked you both here today because I felt it was necessary for both of you to address the obvious issues. The two of you share a… complicated history, that dates back before the two of you even met. You made a notable team as handler and asset, a successful team. When you disappeared Agent Bristow, neither of you had any inclination that you were pregnant?"   
  
"Of course not!" she quickly shot back. Just as quickly, she sat back, her hands in her lap with a near-perfect rendition of Jack Bristow's poker face. "I had no reason to suspect that I was pregnant," she answered in a tone that was careful not to give anything away.   
  
"This… relationship you two shared," she spoke cautiously. "Was it serious or just a sordid office affair?"   
  
"I don't think that's any business of the CIA," Vaughn jumped in. The venom was barely controlled in his voice. A little voice in the back of his head was quick to remind him that this was his wife's job, but it did nothing to stem the anger that had begun to rise. "Our relationship did not impact the quality of our work."   
  
"Yes," she flipped through her papers. "I see that was the conclusion of the investigation that was led by Jack Bristow," she pointed out.   
  
"My father is a professional, the findings of that report are in no way biased."   
  
"Agent Bristow, your father has shown paternal bias on more than one occasion."   
  
"My father is not biased towards Agent Vaughn."   
  
Becky appeared to accept this and looked back at her pad. "Understandably the two of you must still be upset with the recent discovery of Sydney's pregnancy," she spoke again cautiously. Neither nodded. "Would you have kept the child?"   
  
"What does that matter?" Vaughn snapped.   
  
Becky's voice was even when she explained. "It matters. If you two had no intention of keeping this child and raising it, perhaps it could be construed as less of a loss."   
  
Sydney glanced briefly at Vaughn, surprised when his green eyes pierced hers, and then turned to face his wife. "I would have kept the baby."   
  
"Even in your occupation Agent Bristow?"   
  
"I'm not sure what I would have done with my job… I wouldn't have terminated the pregnancy though."   
  
"You would have done it all on your own?"   
  
"She wouldn't have had to," Vaughn jumped in.   
  
"You would have played a part in your child's life?"   
  
He answered without missing a beat, "Yes."   
  
"Did the two of you ever discuss this possibility?"   
  
"I was on the pill," Sydney recalled. "After all my body had gone through, half the time I didn't know what people were putting in my body."   
  
"You didn't think a pregnancy was possible," Becky realized.   
  
The brunette nodded. "I thought about it sometimes, about what it would be like to be a mother… my own experiences with a mother were not stellar so I didn't give it much thought."   
  
"Still, you did sometimes?"   
  
"Once in awhile," she nodded.   
  
"What type of future plans did you two make?"   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her readjust her body on the sofa and felt the aggravation roll off of her in waves. "Doctor Vaughn, I understand that Agent Vaughn requested we work together and I'm sure that you're a competent professional, but is there any way that my case could be reassigned to another doctor?"   
  
The sweet smile that the doctor sent her dropped Sydney's stomach to the ground. "Agent Bristow, this has been signed off by Director Kendall. I have experience in similar cases. Our meetings are mandatory," she explained. On the sofa the former handler and asset unintentionally caught one another's gaze, holding it for perhaps half a second too long before both studied their hands. "Now, what future plans were you two making?"  
  
"Santa Barbara," he remembered. In an attempt to appease his wife, he kept his gaze focused on her forehead and hoped that she thought he was looking at her eyes. "We were going to Santa Barbara that weekend."   
  
"Our first vacation together," Sydney clarified.   
  
"No other future plans? No talk about settling down together? Marriage?"   
  
Again they shared a look. Despite Becky's presence Sydney felt a warmth in her bones for the first time since her return. Vaughn gave her an almost imperceptible nod and turned back to his wife. "There didn't seem to be a point. Until Irina Derevko and Arvin Sloane were captured we could still be called out at a moments notice. It took us forever to arrange to go to Santa Barbara," he explained. "We didn't talk about a lot of things," he shrugged.   
  
"Things that were implied?" Becky noted as they nodded. "So there was no discussion of marriage?"   
  
Her focus on that subject irritated Sydney, who suspected she was more interested for personal than professional reasons. "As Vaughn said, we didn't get a lot of time to plan things. Most of our time was spent together anyway," she fondly recalled.   
  
"You two both agree then that your relationship dealt with a lot of silent understanding?" she asked as they nodded. "Did you ever discuss Agent Bristow's mother killing Agent Vaughn's father."   
  
"There was nothing to say," Vaughn answered. "Sydney never had to apologize for her mother's actions."   
  
"So you didn't feel this made working together more difficult?"   
  
"We wanted the same thing," Sydney shrugged. "We both wanted my mother and Sloane in custody."   
  
"Was it difficult for you though Agent Bristow?"   
  
"Initially," she looked down at her hands. "I felt guilty for my mother's acts."   
  
"You were able to move past that guilt?"   
  
"She had nothing to be guilty for," Vaughn supplied. "Sydney is *not* her mother. By the time we learned the truth about our parents, I knew her well enough to know that."   
  
"Early on in your working relationship, Agent Bristow threatened to stop cooperating with the CIA unless Agent Vaughn was reassigned as her handler," she read from her notes. "You barely knew one another Agent Bristow, may I ask what prompted you to make such a drastic threat?"   
  
"I trusted him. Vaughn wasn't going to use his status as my case handler to boost his career."   
  
"But working with you did boost his status in the agency, didn't it?"   
  
"My status in the agency was not my priority," Vaughn quickly replied.   
  
"Right before you disappeared Agent Bristow, you discovered that your roommate was actually a double placed into your life by Arvin Sloane. How does that make you feel?"   
  
Sydney was tempted to say stupid - how could she not have put two and two together? Still, she knew better than that. "Betrayed. Foolish for not realizing sooner… Francie was my best friend. She'd been dead for months and I hadn't even known." Her eyelids slid over her brown eyes as she regained her composure. On her comfortable perch, Becky noted that her husband's hand all but twitched in his desire to lean over and comfort Sydney. "I was angry too," she added, opening her eyes. "Angry at Sloane for ruining my life again. Things were going well in my personal and professional life and he ruined it."   
  
"You believe Arvin Sloane is involved in your disappearance?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Agent Vaughn, do you share Agent Bristow's belief?"   
  
"Absolutely."   
  
"The both of you are working on investigating Derevko, Sloane and what happened to Agent Bristow since her disappearance. Has that been difficult for either of you?"   
  
Another glance, another silent understanding. They'd been carefully dancing around one another so it *wouldn't* be difficult. "No," Sydney finally answered as he silently agreed with her.   
  
"Agent Vaughn how do you feel now that Agent Bristow has returned, now that you know she is very much alive?" Becky asked.   
  
Vaughn studied her for a moment, wondering if she posed the question as his wife or his therapist. "Relieved," he sighed. "When Director Kendall called to tell me she was alive, that I needed to go to Hong Kong… It was probably the best phone call I've ever received," he admitted.   
  
The redhead nodded and made a few notes on her pad. "Just one last question and we'll conclude the session," she smiled at them. "The two of you have been through a great deal of pain, together and apart. I don't mean to sound cliche, but if you could go back and do it all over again, would you do it differently?"   
  
The answer was said in unison, neither taking even half a moment to consider the possibilities. "No."   
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A/N: I need some help. I'm looking for a fanfic. It's Alias (obviously) & takes place in a library right after V&S learn the truth about her Mother. Please please please help me. He tracks her down at the library . . Ugh, it's haunting me, I want to read it again!! Thanks to anyone who can help me!   
If you want to read an EXCELLENT Vaughn/Syd/Shrink story, check out YanksLuver's "Subtext" in my favorite stories list! 


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
Authors Note: Okay . . . In retrospect, I definitely needed a Vaughn/Syd session, but having Becky doing it was (in real life & in my story universe) not the best thing to do. Hopefully I've redeemed myself with this chapter. Thank you once again for all the wonderful reviews too.   
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"You don't think her questions were purely professional?"   
  
Sydney looked up from her desk to where Dixon had been standing during their conversation. "I'm sure they were… At least the majority of them were. He's her husband though Dixon, how can she not make it personal?   
  
"She's trained for things like that Syd, and if you think she's not doing it right you should tell Kendall."   
  
"I don't want her to lose her job." Just her husband, her mind added bitterly.   
  
"Talk to your father. Maybe he could have your case reassigned."   
  
"You know I want a new therapist," she explained as her former partner nodded. " But I just returned, and I've seen how many people and resources were used to try to find me… I don't want to seem too demanding or childish."   
  
"If you're not comfortable with her then you might be halting your own progress."   
  
"She's good at what she does. I can see that."   
  
"You want to please Agent Vaughn."   
  
Sydney sighed. "Yes and no. I trust Vaughn's judgement. He wouldn't just want me to stop seeing her because of their… personal relationship." Dixon nodded as she continued, "I want to get past this, to find out what happened and move on. If this is the best, quickest way to do that, I'll deal with her."   
  
"Syd, promise me if this becomes too much you'll talk to your father. No one would think less of you for wanting to see another therapist. Not even Agent Vaughn."   
  
"Promise," she smiled. Dixon approved with a tilt of his head and returned to his desk.   
  
  
  
  
  
Will kept her busy at the restaurant that evening. Halloween was coming up in a few short weeks and there was a party to plan at the restaurant. Sydney didn't bother to ask if this would be the restaurant's first Halloween celebration. Frankly, it didn't matter. Instead, it was obvious that Will was working to insure that she stayed busy. All that mattered was he was trying to help her assimilate back into a normal life. One thing she had learned was that it was the thought that counted.   
  
Jack Bristow was not pleased over breakfast the next morning when Sydney explained that her 'counseling' session had not been a private one, but a session with Vaughn. That morning he all but camped out in front of the younger man's desk until he appeared. "What's wrong Jack?"   
  
"What the hell is your wife thinking?"   
  
"If this is about yesterday -"   
  
"Of course this is about yesterday! My daughter is going through enough right now, she does not need your wife to dredge up things that can be dealt with at a later time."   
  
"You don't think I know that? I had no idea that I was going to be meeting with Sydney until she walked into that office."   
  
"Sydney needs to deal with the things she's remembering, not what issues may remain from her relationship with you," he barked. After a moment of composing himself, he continued in a slightly more gentle fashion, "Agent Vaughn, I have the utmost respect for you, and I respect your judgement in regards to your wife seeing my daughter. However, if she pulls this again not only will her job at the agency be in question but I will pull you from this investigation."   
  
With a sharp jaw he nodded, "I understand Jack. I'll talk to Becky."   
  
"You do that," he demanded and began to wheel away. He only hesitated when Vaughn called his name. Jack turned around to face the younger man.   
  
"How is she?"   
  
"She's been spending a lot of time with Will, Marshall, Carrie and Dixon. Sydney's been through many things in her life, but this is by far the most difficult. Still, she'll preserve. I know my daughter, she'll come out of this better than any of us."   
  
Vaughn nodded and silently thanked him as Jack turned and disappeared to his own office.   
  
  
  
  
  
After two years time and lulling himself into believing he was fine without her, Vaughn found himself missing her as though it was still that first day she had been gone. If he had asked his wife, she probably would have given him a professional opinion, but he didn't need that. Now Sydney was back and was choosing to ignore him. Before, she couldn't ignore him, they'd been handler and asset, and had been forced to face their problems. He understood that she was rebuilding her life, piecing together the parts that still remained, but it hurt him to consider that she was leaving him out of it.   
  
"You shut her out first," Eric said over beers that night. Vaughn looked up, confused. "You know when you drink you say things out loud that you probably meant to keep in your head."   
  
"Do I?"   
  
"A lot," he nodded. "Don't talk to Becky about it though, that would only equal a disaster."   
  
"This isn't fair to anyone," he groaned and took a swig of his beer.   
  
"I think that was probably Arvin Sloane's intentions," Eric dryly answered.   
  
"I swear, if I even see that man's shadow…"   
  
"I think Jack gets first dibs on murdering him."   
  
"How about I get Irina?"   
  
"Sydney doesn't believe her mother was involved," his best friend reminded. "You kill Irina, you effectively hurt Sydney. Given the situation you're in buddy, I'd re-evaluate that decision."   
  
"Fine, I'll settle for Sark," he shrugged.   
  
"She could call me… Hell, we basically work in the same room and she won't even look at me."   
  
"So we've established that when she gets pissed off, she sometimes falls back on the silent treatment."   
  
"It's driving me fucking insane," he muttered. "Maybe that's her point," he shrugged.   
  
"Somehow I don't think the discovery of your marriage did much to ease her sanity level either."   
  
"I thought she was dead Eric. I didn't do anything wrong."   
  
"Maybe not, but Sydney can't help how she feels."   
  
"And yesterday… Jesus, Becky just wouldn't stop."   
  
"Speaking of Becky, where is your lovely wife this evening?"   
  
"Book Club."   
  
"Book Club," Eric smirked. How his best friend went from a woman who dealt in international espionage to a woman who attended book club twice a week was beyond him. "You realize the answer here is obvious."   
  
"What's that?" He looked at his best friend with tired eyes.   
  
"This really isn't hard man, you divorce Becky and get back with Sydney."   
  
His breath seemed to strangle him as he whispered, "I love Becky."   
  
"You do," Eric agreed. "You love Becky, but you're in love with Sydney."   
  
"I promised Becky the rest of my life. I can't do that to her, she deserves better than that."   
  
"What about Syd though man? What about you?"   
  
"Marriage vows are forever. Whether I like it now or not, I made that promise to my wife."   
  
"Listen, I'm not exactly a big supporter of divorce either. When my parents did, my life became a living hell too," he sighed. "Still, you made promises to Syd too. I don't know what, but I'm sure you must have."   
  
"Eric, I never even told her I loved her," he mumbled against the lip of the beer bottle.   
  
"She knew Mike. She had to have known. This girl was a damn spy, I'm sure she picked up on your feelings. When it came to her you wore them on your sleeve anyway."   
  
"The worse part is, I feel like I failed her. Like moving on … Finally moving on… Like I failed her somehow."   
  
"You didn't fail her. Hell, Jack hasn't killed you yet, so you must be doing something right," he teased. "She doesn't know what you were like, what you did. Those folders can't even hold half of what you did. We know though Mike. Eventually, she'll understand."   
  
"I don't think she wants to understand."   
  
"Sydney's a strong woman, stubborn as a mule," he agreed. "Still, she can't ignore the truth forever."   
  
"No, but she can - - and will - - try."   
  
Eric took a sip of his beer and sighed. "Loves a bitch, isn't it?"   
  
Vaughn laughed and looked at his best friend. "Is that one of your new quotes that you spout to impress women?"   
  
"No," he shook his head. "If you were a woman bitching to me about a man… Well, I probably would have stopped listening awhile ago," he conceded. "But if I hadn't, I'd probably say to remember what Alicia Barnhart said."   
  
"What did she say?"   
  
"You're French, so is she, you don't know?" he jostled him with a good-natured laugh. "Seriously man, she said 'True love never dies, for it is lust that fades away. Love bonds for a lifetime but lust just pushes away'."   
  
"Where did you pick up this crap?"   
  
"Places," he shrugged. "Hey, I've got a date this weekend, it's working."   
  
"Do you believe it?"   
  
"For your sake I have to," he whispered. Vaughn nodded and returned his attention to his near-empty beer.   
  
  
  
  
  
The last two days of the week seemed like an eternity to Vaughn. He'd taken steps to go out of his way to see her. Thursday morning he'd even made her coffee the way she liked it and put it on her desk. Since she walked in with Dixon and Will - she never seemed to be alone these days – surely, she knew it had been him. Still, she said nothing. That night he tried to console himself with the belief that perhaps she thought it had been her father. The excuse was flimsy at best. Sydney knew it had been him and still wanted nothing to do with him.   
  
Friday afternoon he all but chased after her as she left for the day. When he'd dropped Becky's lunch off at her office that day, he saw that Sydney was supposed to have another hypno-regression session on Tuesday morning. After nearly a week of being ignored, he was frustrated and annoyed. She was already getting into her government-issued sedan when he called her name.   
  
If he hadn't been scrutinizing her every move he wouldn't have noticed her microsecond of hesitation. When she turned around, a smile graced her features. For half a moment it was like everything was okay. That everything was fine. It didn't matter that she had ignored him, or that the world was fantastically unfair to him and Becky, and most of all, to her. For half a moment the earth stopped moving, all problems ceased to exist and her smile reached her eyes.   
  
"Vaughn. Hi."   
  
"Hi," he grinned. "How are you?"   
  
"I'm fine," she nodded. "Just going to meet Will at the restaurant."  
  
The spark of jealousy was irrational and he knew as much. Will was no longer a threat, at least his mind claimed as much. More than that, the former journalist was now among his closest friends. They shared a passion for hockey and a devotion to Sydney that few others could appreciate, sans Jack and Dixon. "You're staying busy?" he asked with what he hoped appeared to be casual interest.  
  
"Doing my best," she shrugged.   
  
"Will mentioned you were looking for a place. Have you had any luck?"   
  
"Not much, but I haven't been looking all that hard."   
  
"You go back to Becky on Tuesday?"   
  
Her face darkened slightly as she nodded, "Yeah." She spoke neutrally, "Dad's going to come with me again. Maybe Will too."   
  
"That's good," his voice came out soft and uneven. Sydney briefly wondered whether the tears were going to pool in his eyes again. "You probably have to go."   
  
"Yeah," she whispered. Her head bobbed in agreement but her feet made no attempts to move. His eyes studied the other cars in the parking garage, even the spatters of aged graffiti that decorated the walls before her soft utterance of his name caught his attention. "Are you okay?"   
  
Truthfully, he wasn't okay. Once things had started to progress with Becky, he'd begun to accept Sydney's death in small bits and pieces. Now that she was back, he wasn't sleeping and nothing seemed to balance anymore. To say that his emotions were conflicting would have been an understatement. He wanted to cling to Becky as badly as he wanted to push her away. No matter what Eric or Becky or even Jack Bristow said, the guilt he carried would never disappear. For all the years they'd spent together in hell, he'd never disappointed or hurt her, and now he had done both.   
  
"I've been doing this job for a long time now, relatively speaking," he started as he wiped the bottom of his nose. Sydney leaned against her car, crossed her arms and nodded as he continued, "I've encountered people I've detested… People who made my stomach curl… Horrible people Syd, people who didn't even feel guilty for what they'd done… But I had never wanted to kill anyone. Not even your mother." His voice was low and dark as she met his eyes. "I'm going to find Arvin Sloane. Syd, if I have to use every black market contact the CIA has, your father and I are going to find him. Then I'm going to kill him with my bare hands. This time I'm not even going to feel sorry about it either."   
  
For some reason this caused her to nod and then a small smile fluttered across her lips. "They won't even consider it a crime. You'll be doing your patriotic duty."   
  
"God Bless America," he grinned.   
  
"You look surprised."   
  
"That you want to murder Arvin Sloane?" she asked as he nodded. "No," she shook her head. "One of us has to, it might as well be you."   
  
"Why me?"   
  
"You're bigger," she shrugged. His grin widened, a smile bigger than she had seen since her return. Daring to allow her smile to disappear, she asked, "What do you think it would have been like?"   
  
"It would have been a girl," he decided, hands in his pockets as he studied their shoes.   
  
"How do you know that?"   
  
"I don't know." He met her eyes, relieved to see no anger. "I just always imagined us having a daughter," he confessed as his cheeks burned. "She would have looked just like you."   
  
"No," Sydney shook her head. "Your eyes," she softly corrected. "Your chin too."   
  
"That's mean Syd," he teased and rubbed his jaw. "My cleft was the origin of many years of elementary school torment."   
  
"I like it," she whispered. "Donovan probably wouldn't have approved of someone monopolizing his master anyway."   
  
"Donovan would have loved it," he corrected. "He would have sat and drooled over her bassinet all day."   
  
The smile that crossed her face at the thought broke his heart. That's all it would ever be now, speculation and what ifs. "Would you have married me?" she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.   
  
He readjusted his weight, a hand in his pocket as he wiped his nose, "Just because you were pregnant?" Sydney nodded. "No, I would have asked you because I wanted you to be my wife."   
  
"That bastard always wins, doesn't he?" she whispered with an otherwise unheard venom in her voice.   
  
"No Syd," he corrected her. "Sloane isn't going to win. Not this time, or any time. I'm not going to let you give up here. Neither will your father or Dixon or Will. This isn't over, not by a long shot. There's no way in hell he's getting out of this the winner."   
  
"I won't let him hurt you."   
  
"He won't," Vaughn vowed. For the first time they openly took in one another, finding comfort in their connection. Slowly his lips curled into a smile, and hers joined suit. Even in the dirty light of the parking lot he would have been hard pressed to find anyway to describe her, other than beautiful.   
  
  
  
  
  
At the end of a long day, Becky Vaughn put together her belongings. The week was finally over and she was eager to enjoy her weekend. On her way out, she paused to say goodbye to her friends and peeked in to find her husband's office empty. Resolved that she would see him at home, she got into the elevator and headed towards the parking garage. It was an uncharacteristically early departure for her. Usually she'd spend hours making recommendations and evaluations, even on Friday's, but the week had been the longest in her recent memory. Absently she stepped out of the elevator and searched for her keys.   
  
Quickly she rounded the corner and stopped. Less than three meters from where she was, Michael and Sydney were unaware of her presence. They stood no more then a foot from one another, silently waiting for the other to say something to force them back to their other lives. For a moment she wondered if this was what the warehouse was like all those years ago. Oddly enough, the sensation that surged through her body was more prying then painful; she felt more like a voyeur to the scene then a victim of it.   
  
Conscious of her options, she slowly slid her keys back into her purse and turned around. There were other ways to reach her car, and if these two needed to communicate she didn't want to be the one to make it more difficult. Perhaps Michael had been right and they did need to work this out without a third party. Still, she had seen too many people push aside issues, ignore them until they burst. That was the last thing she wanted to see happen to either her husband or Agent Sydney Bristow.   
  
  
  
  
  
On the other side of the parking garage, Vaughn and Sydney continued their silent stance. "You can't keep avoiding me Syd," he whispered as her eyes dropped. Their moment had been wonderful, the most comfort he'd felt in what seemed like a lifetime, but he needed to address what was important.  
  
"I haven't -"   
  
"Don't start lying to me now," he hissed. The low beat of his voice caused her to meet his eyes before she looked the other way.   
  
"Vaughn… You've made this life, this wonderful life. I don't want to ruin that."   
  
"You're a part of that Sydney," he corrected.   
  
Her head shook. "Becky…" she spoke softly.   
  
"I love my wife," he conceded as her eyes dropped. "That still doesn't change how I feel for you."   
  
Sydney struggled to understand the seemingly impossible. Was it possible to be in love with two people at once? Surely it wasn't. You loved one and were in love with another.   
  
"Sydney, I thought you were dead."   
  
"I know -"   
  
"No you don't," he stopped her. "I know you lost Danny Syd, but it's not the same. When you lost Danny… You took a risk before hand, you told him the truth. You had a body, you knew what happened, you got to say goodbye. You and I… I had no reason to believe anything like that would happen. In this world… I knew in the back of my mind that there was a chance I might lose you someday, but I always thought I'd be on that mission, that it wouldn't be after I dropped you off at your damn house to pack."   
  
"Vaughn, don't blame yourself."   
  
"Wouldn't you?" he snapped. "Wouldn't you Sydney? For years I watched you take the weight of everything. I'm the one who takes the weight for this. I should have gone with you instead of sitting in that mindless debrief with Kendall!"   
  
"So what? So you could have ended up dead?" Unbeknownst to her, the tears pooled in her eyes as she spoke the words.   
  
"For most of the past two years… I would have given anything to go back and go into that apartment with you that night. To give you back up. To do something."   
  
"If something had happened to you there, because of Francie's double… I never would have forgiven myself."   
  
"I didn't join the CIA to stay safe."   
  
"I can't lose anyone else Vaughn." She shook her head as she continued, "Please… I know you need to find them, I do too. So does my father. We need to find them, but you need to promise me that you won't take any unnecessary risks," she requested. When he didn't answer, she dared to reach over and take his hand. It was the first physical contact they had since the awkward hug in Hong Kong. "Promise me Vaughn."   
  
"I promise," he whispered as she dropped his hand. "If you'd rather see another therapist… go back to Barnett or the doctor that worked with you when you found out about Project Christmas… I can take care of that for you."   
  
Sydney smiled at the way he awkwardly granted her permission to free herself of his wife's clutches. Not anymore though. Perhaps if he'd made the offer a few days ago, she would have jumped on it, but no more. She was not going to be intimidated or disgruntled by anyone. "She's good at what she does Vaughn," she reminded him. "I've seen her record. She's one of the best that we have. She was at Langley for a few years before she transferred back here. I'm going to stay with her."   
  
"You should probably go meet Will. Before you're late," he realized.   
  
"Right," she smiled and this time got into her car. "Have a nice weekend," she wished. Vaughn remained firmly planted as she pulled out of her spot, relieved when she was out in the LA sunlight and allowed to erase the smile from her face.   
  
  
  
  
  
The city passed by her as she crawled through the traffic towards the restaurant. With one hand she managed to call and assure Will that she was just running late. She then absently tossed her cell phone into the passenger seat and searched the radio for something to listen to. The only thing polluting the airways seemed to be traffic reports, irritating and pointless since she already found herself sitting in the cramp of rush hour.   
  
As traffic finally began to move, the shrill ring of her cell phone caught her off guard. Balancing the steering wheel in her left hand she reached over with her right to grasp the phone. Sighing she pressed 'on' and brought the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"   
  
"Agent Bristow, where are you?" Director Kendall demanded to know.  
  
"I'm going home. It's Friday. What is it?"   
  
"Get back here immediately."   
  
"What's going on?" she asked as her mind formulated the quickest way to return to the office.  
  
Kendall sighed so loudly that she swore she could see his forehead crease from her space on the highway. "Your Mother's here."   
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A/N: This might be the last chapter of Raw Precision for a little while. My original fiction is in desperate need of some TLC (and if I don't, Meg will hurt me badly) and The Lightkeeper & Trying Normal might like some attention too. Just a warning. As always, please review. Your reviews mean so much to me. I just love them so much! 


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Raw Precision  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
Authors Note: Well . . . I DID work on The Lightkeeper & TN, but what do you want from me?!! Yell at the muse! I was going to take a break. My muse, however, did not.   
As Linda put it, 'the chapter that just wouldn't wait....'  
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With Friday evening traffic, it took Sydney nearly an hour to return to the CIA headquarters. Of all the things Kendall could have told her, that was the least expected. There'd been no activity, no sightings of Irina Derevko. The few leads they had were centered around Sloane and Sark. On the drive back, she tried to establish what ulterior motive her mother might have and what potential betrayals she might have up her sleeve.   
  
As she stepped into the task force center she wasn't surprised to see Will and Vaughn, both quickly walking towards her. "Is it true?" Will asked, clearly out of breath as he arrived at her side.   
  
"Kendall wouldn't lie about this," Vaughn shook his head.   
  
"Why would she do this?" Sydney looked at them. "She's betrayed us, she has to realize the CIA isn't going to trust any of her Intel."   
  
"Your mother's only request is to see you," Jack spoke as the three spun around to see him.   
  
Kendall joined them moments later. "Your mother claims to be unaware of your whereabouts over the last two years. She's claiming that she cut off ties with Arvin Sloane two years ago and has been looking for you just as vigorously as the CIA."   
  
"We obviously can't believe anything she says," Jack added.   
  
"We're still going to use her for all she's worth," Kendall insisted. He then turned his attention pointedly to Sydney.   
  
"You want me to talk to her."   
  
"It wouldn't be difficult to imagine you'd miss your mother Agent Bristow. It has been two years."   
  
"My mother is a traitor, and you're referring to two years I don't even *remember*," she was quick to remind him.   
  
"You've stated on repeated occasions that you don't feel your mother was involved. Are you now changing your opinion?" he challenged.  
  
"Sydney's allowed her opinions, no matter what they may be," her father spoke before she could formulate a response.   
  
"She still has a job to do, and if seeing her mother is part of her job then that's what she will do."   
  
"I'll go see her," Sydney sighed.   
  
"The guards are expecting you," Kendall nodded. With a last glare at the Assistant Director, she breezed by the four men and headed towards her mother's cell. In her mind it felt as though just a few months had gone by since she'd walked the path to the guarded cell, but she was mindful of the two years. As she walked by, she noted people would pause to give her a second glance, and sometimes stop their work altogether. News of Sydney Bristow's return had spread fast and she had become bona fide CIA attraction.   
  
The click of the gates was louder than she remembered, and the chill in the air weighed heavily on her already weary body. She calculated the click of her heels as she approached her mother. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Irina stop her pacing and turn at the sound. The look of relief on her features was so sincere that Jack, observing with Kendall, Vaughn and Will from the ops center, almost believed it.   
  
"Sydney," she sighed the name like a melody. The two women were only separated by the glass as they took in the sight of one another. Despite the river of anger and doubt that would always flow, both were eager to assure themselves that the other was all right.   
  
"The CIA believes you know where I've been the last two years."   
  
"If I knew, don't you think I would have had you with me?" her mother's eyes widened.   
  
"Tell me you have no idea where I've been for the past two years."   
  
"I told Director Kendall - "   
  
"Tell *me*," she demanded.   
  
"Sydney you *have* to believe me. Sloane and I ended our relationship before I spoke to you last. I've done nothing but look for you for the last two years…"   
  
"What did he do to me?"   
  
"I don't know," Irina said as her head shook. "You are what Rambaldi prophesized, but I don't know when or even if Sloane realized that."   
  
"What would he need me for?"   
  
"Everything about Sloane ties back to Rambaldi. Since Emily's death, his entire life has been consumed by the process of understanding that man. It's seductive Sydney, the riddles, his clues…" she trailed off at her daughter's stony look. "He was putting together the artifacts, building what Rambaldi had written about. The only thing I can think of is that he realized he needed you to make it work."   
  
"Why me? Why not you?"   
  
"*You* are the woman Rambaldi referred to Sydney, not me."   
  
"Then why take away two years of my life?" she snapped. "Why do this to me?"   
  
"I don't know!" Irina protested. "If I had wanted you with me, I could have taken you when you were six," she reminded. "But I couldn't take you away from your life then, from your friends… from your father," her voice dropped an octave at the mention of Jack. "I couldn't do that to you when you were six Sydney, I certainly wouldn't have done it to you two years ago! You are my *daughter* and whether you ever believe me I *do* love you. Nothing means more to me than you. It took me many years to understand that, to realize that this search to understand Rambaldi would never mean as much to me as you do."   
  
The younger woman crossed her arms and glanced down at her shoes. Irina looked just as she had for most of her imprisonment, the traditionally issued unisex pants and shirt. There was nothing feminine about it, but even Sydney had to admit her mother still managed to scream appeal from her veins. After only a quick look, there was no question how she'd duped as many people - especially men - as she had.   
  
"Why turn yourself in again?"   
  
"I spent two years looking for you. I have connections; people who talk to me won't talk to the CIA. All I've done for two years is try to find my daughter."   
  
"While dealing in blackmail, weapons and murder," Sydney accused in a low voice.   
  
"If necessary," she agreed. "You *are* my daughter. I couldn't accept that you were dead Sydney. As your mother… I would have known if you had died," she softly spoke. "Then I found out that you were alive. That you were here, in Los Angeles, working with the CIA… I had no other option than to turn myself in, to see my daughter again."  
  
"You've used me as a ploy before."   
  
"I have nothing to gain Sydney," she pleaded. "Sark escaped and went back to work with Sloane. If you look you'll find I used every resource I could to look for you."   
  
"Why not turn yourself in when I disappeared? Work with the CIA?"   
  
"They would've kept me in this cell, I wouldn't have been of any use," she dismissed. "There are people I know, contacts, organizations who will work with me, keep me informed, organizations that would *never* cooperate with the CIA."   
  
"They're going to question you. They're going to want proof, and proof for your proof." Her voice was neutral but her heart was not. Perhaps she was a fool, certainly her father would think so, but what daughter didn't want to believe that their mother would sacrifice everything for them? She felt it was even more difficult for her, having lost the mother she adored at such a young age and spending the next two decades idolizing a mere illusion. Then her mother was there before her, once again whispering pretty promises into the core of her soul.   
  
"The CIA is welcome to whatever they want," Irina stated easily.   
  
"Okay," her daughter sighed. Finally she looked up and met her mother's gaze, the same eyes that greeted her when she looked into the mirror at night. "You should get some sleep. They're going to begin questioning you early tomorrow."   
  
Irina nodded as a smile danced up her face. "Thank you for seeing me." The gates began to click open as Sydney turned to go. Halfway past the first gate her mother called out her name. "How is he?" Irina asked suddenly as her daughter returned. "Your father. I've often wondered how he's fared. I've heard… stories. How is he? I know about his… condition. Certainly your return has made it easier for him."   
  
"Dad's fine," Sydney replied, tone neutral and her head bobbed slightly.   
  
"Agent Vaughn? Your friends? Surely they're happy about your return."   
  
As a mother, it was impossible not to notice the way Sydney's back straightened at the mention of her former handler. "I'm adjusting fine," she dismissed. During her lifetime she'd not been one to have many heart to hearts, especially not with her mother in the middle of the CIA, where anyone could be watching them. Still, her mother accepted this answer and again thanked her for the visit.   
  
At the other end of the CIA the three men waited for Sydney to reappear. When she did, her _expression was one familiar to Vaughn and Jack. It was the look of a little girl still very much misplaced, silently clinging to the slightest hope that it was all a mistake, that her mother was the good-natured, loving woman she had once adored. By the time she met their gazes she had already straightened her chin, perfecting a poker face to envy even that of Jack Bristow's.   
  
"Do you think she's for real?" Will asked as she shrugged.   
  
"I have no idea," she sighed. She then met Jack Bristow's unwavering gaze. "Why would she do this?"   
  
"Your mother's agenda is likely long-term. She's proven on numerous occasions that most of her plans are long-term in nature."   
  
"What does she have to gain?" Kendall suddenly joined the conversation, looking at the three other agents expectantly. "There's been no movement from any of her known affiliates or contacts, no attempts to break into K-Directorate or the Triad."   
  
"She admitted that she used murder, blackmail and weapons trade if necessary," Jack reminded them. "Just because she claims to have been searching for Sydney doesn't make her any less of a threat."   
  
"Agent Bristow, what's your take on this?" the balding director asked her.   
  
"I think we should see if she's telling the truth."   
  
"There's no way to verify that Sydney. She could have forged evidence just to match her story," her father reminded her.   
  
"Jack it's worth a shot," Vaughn insisted. "At this point she has no levity over the CIA. There's no strategic reason to turn herself in."   
  
"No obvious reason," Jack corrected. "I've dealt with this woman for *decades* - she *always* has a reason."   
  
"Isn't it possible she just wanted to see Sydney?" Will suggested.   
  
"It's highly unlikely," the elder Bristow dismissed. "This woman's motives are never what they appear to be."   
  
"This doesn't make any sense," Sydney sighed. "From everything I've read, there's been no movement inside her former organization since I disappeared. You haven't been able to tie *anything* to her. Everything tied back to Sloane's organization, which she's no longer a part -"   
  
"We can't trust a word she says," Jack hissed. "This could be another orchestrated scheme to infiltrate the CIA."   
  
"This woman appears to have nothing to gain," Kendall disagreed. "Sloane took possession of all forty seven Rambaldi artifacts before Sydney even disappeared," he reminded as Jack's face hardened. "You have to admit there is the slight chance that Derevko did turn herself in to see Sydney again."   
  
"After all of the time you've spent observing this woman, how could you be naive enough to believe that?" Jack spat.   
  
"Jack, I've seen you break CIA protocol on numerous occasions for Sydney's benefit. You've killed and blackmailed people. It's not totally out of the question that her mother would do the same thing," he pointed out. "Before she turned herself in to the CIA, her modus operandi had been to infiltrate and take over already organized syndicates to try to understand Rambaldi. For two years we haven't been able to attach her to *anything* similar to her former MO. Maybe," he shrugged, "Just maybe she's telling the truth. I'm not willing to let her out of that cell, but I am willing to verify her story," he decided. He then turned to the younger agents. "Mr. Tippin, Agent Vaughn, Agent Bristow, thank you for your prompt return. You're free for the weekend unless you hear otherwise," he explained as two of the men looked at Sydney.   
  
"Are you going to start questioning her tomorrow?" Sydney inquired.   
  
"They're putting together an appropriate team at Langley. This time we're not taking any chances or holding back any stops with your mother," he explained as she nodded. "As a result, we won't be able to begin our official questioning until Monday, but yes, we'll probably start talking to her tomorrow."   
  
"If you find out *anything* about my disappearance -"   
  
"You'll be the first person I notify Agent Bristow," he assured her. "Now, you're free to go, unless the three of you would like me to assign you work for the weekend."   
  
"Then I'm definitely out of here," Will decided as Sydney nodded. "C'mon Syd," he turned towards his best friend as Vaughn watched carefully. "You'll follow me to the restaurant?"   
  
"We won't be there for an hour with this traffic," she smiled. "I'll see you on Monday," she directed her next comment at Vaughn, who silently nodded, muttered a goodbye to Will and watched the two friends leave the joint task force together.  
  
  
They didn't arrive at the restaurant until nearly seven in the evening. The sky was the color of dark velvet as a few diamond stars twinkled. Will quickly ordered them drinks and dinner, snagging them a quiet table on the crowded Friday night. The air around them was silent as they ate their dinner, and her plate was clear and her drink nearly finished by the time he spoke.   
  
"You think your mom turned herself in for you."   
  
Sydney sighed and looked up at him, "I don't know. I… I want to believe that, so badly, that she's not lying this time. Before I disappeared… She told me that she loved me, that her love for Dad and I wasn't a lie… She's my mother, and no matter how many times she lies to me, I can't help but want to believe her."   
  
"Yeah, parents… mine are a real handful too," he teased as her smile grew.   
  
"Your parents are great people," she insisted. Soberly she returned her attention to her plate and asked, "Do you think I'm being naive? Accepting her excuse so easily?"   
  
"From the time we're little, we trust people. We depend on our parents for *everything* at first, so it's our first instinct to trust them," he reasoned.   
  
"After all I've been through, you'd think I'd outgrow that."   
  
"There's a chance that she just wanted to see you again Syd, to make sure that the reports weren't bogus… Your dad's right, no one knows her true motives. Still, she's there, isn't she? Like you said, you take the good with the bad. No matter what the outcome is, she's here now and she *is* your mother."   
  
"In college I had wished I had your parents," she grinned.   
  
"No!"   
  
"Yes," she nodded. "They were great. They were there when you visited on holidays and your mom used to send those *great* care packages with brownies and cookies and even Blockbuster movie passes!"   
  
"Don't forget the free coupons to McDonalds," he reminded her. "That's so weird because I always wanted *your* dad in college. He just sent money, didn't bother you at all, let you do your own thing. I was twenty five before I felt my parents actually trusted me that much."   
  
"At the time I didn't view it as him trusting me, I saw it as him not caring."   
  
"You don't think that now Syd, do you?"   
  
"No," her head shook. "My father loves me. I think my mother loves me too. We're probably the most dysfunctional family in the world," she laughed. "They love me, they just don't show it the way most parents do."   
  
"Anytime you want normal and boring you can have my parents. I mean do you remember when Amy dyed her hair pink for the first time?" he asked as she nodded. "My parents didn't even bat an eyelash. My mom even said it brought out the blue of her eyes. How crazy is that?"   
  
"I'm not sure my father would have noticed if I dyed my hair in college," she laughed.   
  
"Hey, Tuesday…" he finally recalled. "Do you want me to come with you to your regression session?"   
  
"You wouldn't mind?"   
  
"Of course not Syd," he leaned across the table to take her hand. "If you need me, I'm there, you don't even have to ask. You're all I've got left." Sydney smiled and squeezed his hand, feeling a slight twang of guilt for all her presence had taken from his life. "I do need you to do me a favor though."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Obviously Friday's our second busiest night," he said as they surveyed the crowds. "I like to be here, to keep an eye on things. You know… I feel like I have to," he whispered as she nodded. This was what they could do for Francie, and neither would willingly fail her memory. "I have a date next Friday though. I was hoping you wouldn't mind coming here, closing up and stuff."   
  
"You've got a date?" she teased with an amused smile. "Who's the lucky girl?"   
  
"Her name is Stephanie."   
  
"And?"   
  
"And what?" he asked as she rolled her eyes. "Okay. She owns a pet store. I met her a few weeks ago. I ran into Tommy Crystal Meth - remember I think I mentioned him when I was still going to NA?" he asked as her lips smirked and she nodded. "Okay, anyway, she's Tommy's sister. We just started talking and hit it off. I'm not sure how the date will go, but I don't want to have to worry about the restaurant -"   
  
"I'll take care of it," she assured him. "Consider it done. Although I want to know every little detail of this date on Saturday."   
  
"You'll be the first person I tell," he promised. "You don't mind? I didn't know if you had any plans -"   
  
"Will, I don't have any plans. I'll do it. It's fine," she assured him. "I'm going to go look at a place tomorrow in Sherman Oaks. Do you want to come with me, look for all the guy things I probably won't see?"   
  
"You need help doing guy things?" he was obviously amused as her eyes rolled.   
  
"You know, things that I won't know to look for, like plumbing and… termites," she cringed. "I hate bugs."   
  
"You can knock a guy three times your size unconscious but a tiny bug scares you," he laughed.   
  
"Will you come or not?"   
  
"Sure. What time?"   
  
"I'm supposed to meet the real estate agent at eleven. Is that too early?"   
  
"I was a journalist Syd, I'm used to weird hours," he reminded her. "We can come back here for lunch afterwards. What's this place supposed to be like?"   
  
"It's a condo, a small yard too. Two bedrooms. The real estate agent gave me the address and I drove by a few times. The complex is yellow with a stucco roof and ivy covering… It's a gated community, and there's a pool."   
  
"Sounds great," he agreed.   
  
"Looks nice," she shrugged. "My dad's still a little hesitant about the idea of my own place, but I haven't lived with him in so long that… I just feel like to really get past this, to move on, I need to be on my own again."   
  
"Anyone who knows you Syd, knows you're going to pull out of this fine. It's the rest of us who need to worry," he smiled as they returned to their meals.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Upon inspection of the condo, Will had to agree that it was exactly what Syd was looking for. The distance was short from the new condo to her father's house, and only a short drive from the CIA. The ivy-covered building was quaint and her neighbors seemed nice. Plus, a massive bonus in Los Angeles, she had her own guaranteed parking space. Security was minimal, but he knew it was the best he could hope for, short of sticking her safely behind a massive brick wall and keeping her there forever.   
  
Saturday evening Will accompanied Sydney to Dixon's. Sarah was a surprisingly sweet woman who bore little resemblance to Diane. Still, it was obvious that Dixon was very much in love with her, holding her hand and resting his arm comfortably around her shoulder. Even the kids seemed to be fond of her, although Sydney knew from experience that no one could substitute your mother. She learned more about Sarah as they prepared salad in the kitchen while Will and Dixon took outside to prepare the barbecue.   
  
While his daughter was an adult, Jack Bristow couldn't fight the urge to stay up until she stepped inside the door. Over her warm mug of tea, Sydney caught her father up on the day's events. Together they talked about every little detail of the house, from the plumbing and electricity to the flowers that lined the walkway and rested in the window boxes. He then listened to her tale of her afternoon at Dixon's. Once they got over the initial awkwardness, Sydney found herself even liking Sarah. She'd even conceded relief, when on the car ride home, Will explained that he and Jack had done a background check on her too as things got serious. Jack's lips quirked, aware that he'd formed a habit of doing routine background checks on strangers. But after what had happened to his daughter, no precaution was foolproof.   
  
Over Sunday morning breakfast, Jack attempted to tease his daughter about her suddenly blossoming social life. Not only was she out the door early that morning to jog with Will, but she had received an invitation to spend the afternoon with Carrie and Marshall. Even though the sight of Carrie's slightly round stomach would continue to cause an ache in her heart, she couldn't turn down their sweet offer.   
  
The day went by swiftly but nicely. At Marshall's she met his mother and listened to at least half a dozen stories of young Marshall. Virginia Flinkman was a soft spoken but eloquent woman, intelligent but bubbly, very much an older version of the younger Mrs. Flinkman. That left Sydney to wonder if Marshall's father had been a sweet but awkward, bubbling wreck of nerves. Still, the day was nice. There were two years of stories to catch up on, and with Mrs. Flinkman she shared a nice conversation, relieved to talk to a woman who had no awareness of her difficult history.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Irina Derevko's unexpected return had left Vaughn and Sydney little time to see or speak to one another on Monday. When she arrived, her coffee was once again on her desk, but this time during lunch she passed by his desk for a few seconds to thank him. They were questioning her mother and thoroughly investigating every lead she offered them. Kendall had even dispatched a team to Switzerland and Amsterdam to pick up evidence and bank statements to verify what she was telling them. Despite her protests, Jack Bristow out-ranked her, and Sydney wasn't allowed to go on either mission. Over lunch even Will and Dixon agreed that it was far too early to put her in the field, especially on the chance her mother was weaving together an elaborate trap.   
  
Tuesday morning passed quickly. After lunch with her friends in the cafeteria she approached the CIA cells. With the questioning she'd undergone the day before, Irina hadn't been in her cell when Sydney had gone to visit. That day however, the guard smiled at her and opened the gates. Kendall had been kind enough to let Irina have a book, pad and pen, and her mother instantly shut the book when Sydney came into sight.   
  
"How are you Sydney?"   
  
"I have another hypno-regression session in a few minutes," she explained. "You should know Kendall's sending teams to Amsterdam and Switzerland."   
  
"Yes, I assumed he would," she nodded. "Everything will be where I instructed it would be."   
  
"Did you give him the necessary codes and precautions the teams will need to take?"   
  
"Of course. Sydney, if I don't cooperate now, the CIA will not be interested in an immunity agreement and they will kill me," she reminded her. Solemnly Sydney nodded, only partially assured that her mother knew all the risks involved. "What have you been able to discover with your therapy?" she asked as her daughter openly scrutinized her. "You don't have to tell me."   
  
"Sloane took me. We don't know for how long, but that's the first thing I remembered."   
  
"It doesn't surprise me," sighed Irina. "The *only* thing Sloane cares about is Rambaldi. The CIA cannot overlook that. If he *did* take you, it wasn't about revenge. He's too wrapped up in Rambaldi to care about anything else."   
  
"The CIA's investigating every possibility," she assured her. "I'd just… Thank you for cooperating."   
  
Irina's eyes were the same shade as the chocolate milk she used to make her young daughter, as her head tilted slightly. "I wish there was more I could do."   
  
"I have to go," she explained as her mother nodded.   
  
"Take care of yourself," Irina whispered as her daughter disappeared through the gates.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Michael Vaughn took a swift turn around the corner. According to his watch, unless he ran to the office, he was going to miss the beginning of Sydney's session. She hadn't asked him to come observe, and he didn't even believe she'd realized he was there before, but on the off-chance she asked for him he wanted to be on hand. There were worse ways to spend his mandatory lunch hour, he mused as he opened the door to the observation room and stepped inside.   
  
Jack and Will turned to face him as he walked into the dim room. Walking in, he was surprised to see Agent Kerr setting Sydney up to the electrodes and his wife nowhere in sight. "Where's Becky?" he whispered to the two men.   
  
"Your wife is no longer Sydney's therapist," Jack explained.   
  
"Did Sydney request that?"   
  
"She didn't say anything to me about it," Will shrugged.   
  
Curiosity scratched persistently in his mind as to where his wife would be and what had transpired. The only thing that outweighed his need to know was the desire to be there for Sydney. Wherever Becky was, she was safe and comfortable, but he didn't know if the same could be said for the woman he watched being lulled into the regressive state.   
  
During an agonizingly slow-paced half-hour, the three men watched her recount her ordeal. Kerr's soothing voice walked her through the process as it had two years before, when she uncovered the unpleasant truth about Project Christmas. This time, however, it was another horrifying account of her missing time. She recalled a few more visits from Sloane, in which he repeatedly threatened to harm more of her friends unless she cooperated. During one visit he had even explained that during Jack's captivity, he'd injected his former comrade with a substance that could cause partial if not complete paralysis, sometimes, even death. Sloane had threatened to track down Will and Vaughn, to inject them with the substance, and even gave her a detailed account of how Sark had escaped from Camp Harris.   
  
By the time Agent Kerr brought her out of it, tears were once again streaming down Sydney's face. Her jaw had remained strong until she had to recount Sloane's description of what he had put in her father's system. Having worked with Sydney before, Agent Kerr had known when it was time to bring Sydney out of it, to quietly assure her it was okay and give her a box of tissues. Once she was composed, Kerr had slipped out of the room, the technicians taking off the electrodes as she walked into the observation room. "Agent Vaughn, why am I not surprised to see you here?" she greeted.   
  
"Can we go see her?" Will asked.   
  
"Sure," she shrugged. "I'm going to ask that she see Dr. Barnett on Thursday and I told her to call me next week to set up an appointment. With her mother's return, we're not sure if or when she'll be sent out on missions, no need to make an appointment that she'll have to break."   
  
"Thank you Agent Kerr," Jack said with a straight face. Then he wheeled himself out of the room behind Will.   
  
The remaining man sighed and collapsed onto a nearby stool. "You okay Agent Vaughn?" she asked, her smile pleasant as she made various notes on her clipboard.   
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he shook his head. "I just…"   
  
"It's a lot to understand, isn't it?" she offered. "Agent Bristow's an extremely capable woman, and she compartmentalizes a lot. She'll process this, tuck it away and move on. It might not be healthy, but it's what she does and she's very talented at it."   
  
"What purpose does Sydney serve to Sloane?"   
  
"I don't know. I thought that was your area of expertise," she smiled.   
  
"The only person who knows that answer is Arvin Sloane, and perhaps Sydney. Only time will tell."   
  
"Time," he muttered under his breath. He then looked up and studied Agent Kerr carefully for a moment. "Agent Kerr, when were you assigned Sydney's case?"   
  
"Yesterday. Why, is something wrong Agent Vaughn?"   
  
"No, nothing," he dismissed and then walked out of the room.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
This time it was Gershwin playing on the stereo when he arrived home. Becky either didn't realize or chose not to acknowledge his presence as he walked into the apartment. Instead she was busy in the kitchen, preparing whatever their dinner would be for the evening. After the day he'd had - he'd been unable to catch Sydney before she went home for the day - the last thing on his mind was food.   
  
"Michael," she smiled when she saw him. "Everything okay?" Before he could respond, she turned down the music, wiped her hands on the dishtowel slung over her shoulder and looked at him.   
  
"You took yourself off of Sydney's case."   
  
"Not exactly," she conceded as she furiously scrubbed the small space of kitchen counter. After a few moments of trying to take out the aged stain, she sighed and looked up at him. Strands of red hair blocked her face, but her tired eyes were still visible. "I received my first official reprimand yesterday. Over a decade of service Michael, and now my file is worthless. An official reprimand signed by Jack Bristow and Director Kendall for 'inappropriate behavior' in the Sydney Bristow case."   
  
"Becky," he said as he took a step towards her.   
  
She held up a hand, stopping him. "They're right Michael. They're absolutely right. Treating Sydney went against every oath I made and treating you as my patient most certainly did as well. The ironic thing is I fought like a dog for that case, to be able to work with her… To try to understand," she shrugged. "I knew from the moment I took that case that I shouldn't have. I wanted to understand, to see who this legendary woman was. It should have gone to someone else. Someone less involved. I've worked with people who associated with terrorists Michael, some of the information I helped patients uncover under regression has led to arrests of some of the most dangerous people in the world… For some stupid reason I *had* to have this case, even though I knew it would be the death of me."   
  
"An official reprimand isn't the end of a career -"   
  
"I think I might want it to be," she sighed.   
  
"What?" he sat down across from her at the kitchen table.   
  
"I was thinking, maybe I should open a private practice. Better money, better hours, less stress… I always wanted to serve my country. I have now. I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore Michael, and I'm getting tired of it. Of the lies and the secrets and the pain… I have enough of my own pain," she sighed. "I haven't made any decisions, but it's an idea. I've been assigned a few more promising cases. I'm going to stick around and see what becomes of them before I make my final decision."   
  
Michael nodded before he reached over for her hand. "If you do decide to leave, the CIA will be losing a valuable asset. You're good at what you do Becky."   
  
"That doesn't mean I should keep doing it. People are good at murder, at robbery, but that doesn't mean they should do it," she reminded him. "I'm not a kid anymore, I'm closer to forty then thirty and I don't know if I can keep this up. The pay sucks and I can't imagine anything being more emotionally draining. Damn it Michael, I actually *treated* you in a session… I *tricked* you into a session. That goes against every moral code in my body," she struggled to explain. "Sydney is an important asset in the CIA, an important part of what the CIA is trying to do, and my working with her is not in either of our best interests. What's best for Sydney, for the agency, and for you and I, is if I'm no longer a part of her case. Thank you for recommending me, for giving me the chance - anyone who comes in contact with her case gets recognition, you know that first hand," she smiled and squeezed his hand. "But I can't do it anymore. Kerr and Barnett are good at what they do, they'll help her."   
  
"You're a good person Becky, one of the best I know," he whispered. With a teary eyed smile she shrugged and replied, "Thank you. I have to do this if I want to stay that person."   
  
Michael took a moment to understand. Finally he nodded and dropped her hand. Slowly he stood and kissed her cheek. "I'm going to go take a shower."   
  
"Okay." She wiped her tears and added, "Dinner will be ready soon," as he disappeared up the stairs.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Michael found himself unable to even look at his wife throughout the course of the meal, the implications of her words swarming through his mind. He'd quickly accepted that his recommendation of Becky for Sydney's case was a mistake, but he never imagined it would carry such a weight around her neck. Now she had an official reprimand in her records and he knew he was partly to blame. One lesson his mother had struggled to teach him, one he was still wrestling with, was how good intentions could pave the walkway to hell.   
  
"I'm going to Linda's this weekend," Becky declared suddenly into the dead air. It was later that evening and they were sitting on opposite sides of the living room, he in his poorly aged lounger and she cuddled up on the sofa. Jeopardy! played out on the television as she sipped her tea, concentrating on her crossword puzzle as he attempted to answer Alex Trebek's mind teasers.  
  
"Pardon me?" he asked glancing at her.   
  
"My sister? She invited me to spend the weekend… I thought the time away might help me think."   
  
"You're serious about your own practice," he realized as she nodded. "Do you want me to go up with you?"   
  
"I'd like to go alone," she insisted. "Just some sister time. We haven't had that in awhile."   
  
"I don't want you traveling alone when you're upset."   
  
"I'll be fine Michael," she assured him.   
  
"Will you be okay by yourself for the weekend? I'm sure Eric will keep you busy."   
  
"There's probably a hockey game I could play in," he shrugged. Becky supported his desire to play hockey, but had never gone to a game and rarely watched the Kings with him. The sport was too violent and too confusing for her tastes, although she always asked how his games went when he returned home. Most nights, that left him with one extra ticket, one that he usually gave to Eric or Will, depending on the other man's (generally non-existent) social calendars.   
  
"Do you want me to take Donovan?"   
  
"I can handle my dog," he assured her. "When will you be back."   
  
"Sunday afternoon. Work Monday," she reminded him. "I'll do some grocery shopping tomorrow so you'll have plenty in the house."   
  
"I can do it -"   
  
"Michael, I'll do it," she insisted. "I think I'll go take a shower and finish my crossword. Are you going to watch the rest of this?" she turned towards the television.   
  
"I want to see who wins," he conceded. "There's a Kings game on in a half an hour too."   
  
"You'll stay up and watch it?" she questioned as she languidly stood and stretched. Donovan only looked up briefly from his own resting-place at his master's feet.   
  
"Yeah," he shrugged.   
  
"Enjoy your game." She walked over, her hand on his forearm as she kissed the top of his head.   
  
"Don't wait up for me," he called absently.   
  
"I wasn't going to," she promised as she disappeared into their bedroom. 


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
  
Dedication: If my father reads the story, this is dedicated to him. If not, he's in SOOOO much trouble. You've been warned (on multiple occasions) Daddy.   
  
Authors Note: This chapter seriously stinks IMHO. Feel free to disagree. Please review too. Thank you!   
  
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"What's the point of Thursdays?" Sydney asked, glancing at Will curiously. The two of them sipped from matching styrofoam cups from Starbucks as they sat in the ops center.   
  
"One day before Friday?" he shrugged.   
  
"There's no point to Thursdays. I mean before, Thursdays equaled good television -"   
  
"Sunday was better. ABC Sundays were the best," he protested as her grin grew and she nodded.   
  
"Yeah, everyone liked Sunday evenings on ABC," she agreed. "Now it's just another day."   
  
"Maybe your father's wrong. Maybe they should send you out into the field," he said suddenly shifting topics, as her eyes widened. "I don't like the idea Syd, but you're getting restless. Maybe you should be the one with the date tomorrow instead."   
  
"I don't want to date yet," she said as she shook her head and sipped her coffee. In reality she didn't want to have to date again period. "Anyway, tomorrow night at the restaurant should be fun."   
  
"You're going to do fine with Barnett you know."   
  
Sydney's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Have you ever even had a session with Barnett?"   
  
"I'm an analyst, no one cares about my state of mind," he grinned smugly. "How long are you going to avoid this Syd?"   
  
A quick glance at her watch, and she answered, "Another two minutes."   
  
"This woman can't be *that* bad."   
  
"I'll remind you of that when they make you go see her," she reminded him as she rose to her feet.   
  
"Good luck!" he called as she disappeared down the hallway.   
  
  
  
  
  
Dr. Barnett's office was familiar in its sterile, cream-colored comforts. The doctor looked no more aged than the last time Sydney had seen her, although out of the corner of Sydney's eye she thought she saw a photo of a new grandchild on the desk. Barnett's warm, even voice instructed her to sit down as the doctor pulled her file and then sat down across from her. "Sydney," she spoke the name with a small smile, "It's nice to see you again. I never thought I'd have the pleasure."   
  
Sydney smiled and adjusted her seat. Dr. Barnett wasn't a bad woman, certainly not a bad doctor, and she'd always listened to her when she needed a neutral sounding board. The doctor looked down at her file and then back at her beginning the session with, "You recently started back to work. How are you adjusting?"   
  
"Fine," she smiled. "I'm good at my job. Being here makes me feel useful."   
  
"More than if you were just at home waiting to hear about your case?" Dr. Barnett suggested. After a moment of consideration the brunette nodded. "You haven't been given a field-grade yet."   
  
"Not yet."   
  
"Would you like to get back into the field?"   
  
"I'm not sure," she conceded. "I'd like to be able to find Sloane, to make him pay for what he did to me, but I'm not sure it's a good idea unless I know *exactly* what happened to me."   
  
"The agency plans to take your regression therapy slowly. It could be months before we know the full scope of your ordeal. Would you be comfortable being out of the field that long?"   
  
"I would hope that if the situation arose, and there was a possibility of Arvin Sloane being captured, the CIA would let me go. I can't judge how I'll feel in a few months from now, but I'm doing everything I can right now from my desk."   
  
Clearly skeptical, the doctor asked, "And that's enough for you?"   
  
"For right now," Sydney nodded.   
  
"Your mother's recently turned herself into the CIA. How are you coping?"   
  
"I'm fine," she insisted. "She wants to cooperate. We have no evidence to contradict her claims."   
  
"You want to believe her."   
  
"I want to find out what happened to me. I'll use *any* resources I can find to discover where I've been and bring Sloane to justice," she answered in a voice that steadily rose. "Just as it was before, working with my mother is a means to an end."   
  
"An end to what Sydney? The Alliance is gone."   
  
Her voice was low as she stated, "But Sloane isn't. The end to this *hell* that my life has become. I've lost two years, and if my mother in some small way can help me get that back, I'm going to use her."   
  
"You think of her as your mother? Not Irina Derevko?"   
  
"I've come to accept that whether I like it or not, she gave birth to me. I can't deny that in the strictest of terms that woman is my mother."   
  
"She claims to have helped bring down the Alliance. Perhaps she did that to help free you?"   
  
"I don't claim to know or understand that woman's motives. I don't think anyone can."   
  
"Your father certainly has theories," Dr. Barnett spoke. Sydney looked briefly down at her hands then nodded at the doctor. "Two years is a long time Sydney. How are you adjusting to your father's condition?"   
  
"He's still the man I've always known," she insisted. "Physically he's different, but he's no less the person I remember."   
  
"Is it difficult for you? Seeing him in the wheelchair? Knowing Sloane did that to him?"   
  
"What Sloane did to me… It makes me *hate* him, detest him, but when I think of what he did to the rest of my life… to Francie and Will, to Danny… my father," her voice dropped as she listed the lives Arvin Sloane had ruined. "I can deal with what he's done to me, it's what he's done to the people I love that makes me want him dead."   
  
"So if he was brought into custody, you'd suggest the death penalty?"   
  
"The death penalty wouldn't be a strong enough punishment. He's a criminal mastermind who has no concern beyond his own financial gain and self-serving motives. The *only* thing that made him human was his love for Emily, and in the end his quest for Rambaldi killed her."   
  
"Emily Sloane. Do you still miss her?"   
  
"For the majority of my life she was the only mother I knew," she recalled, the overhead lighting glittering off the pool of moisture in her eyes. Sydney took a deep breath and continued, "I know it's been over two years since she died, but I'm still struggling to adjust myself to that idea."   
  
"That must be difficult for you, trying to reconcile how things that are so new to you are history to those around you."   
  
"Yes," she nodded.   
  
"You're staying with your father."   
  
"I'm buying a place, but for the time being I am."   
  
"You're still in the adjustment period."   
  
"I'm adjusting well," she insisted.   
  
"What about Agent Vaughn?"   
  
The mention of him sent Sydney's eyes directly into that of Dr. Barnett's. "What about Agent Vaughn?"   
  
"It must be difficult for you to be around him. You worked closely for several years. Of his own admittance, the two of you were romantically involved at the time of your disappearance, and you return to find him married."   
  
"Agent Vaughn is my friend."   
  
"Are you comfortable with that? Having a friend who was so intimately involved in your case, in your work with the CIA?"   
  
"All of my friends are involved in my work. Dixon, Marshall, our contact originated at SD-6, and Will was my friend *before* he began to work for the government. I don't think my situation is that unusual, many people my age meet most of their friends in the workplace."   
  
"Still Agent Bristow, yours is not the typical career."   
  
"No," she agreed, a sound of bitter amusement escaping her throat. "It certainly is not."   
  
"Your job is difficult Sydney, and dangerous, but you *are* good at it. Don't let this incident let you forget that."   
  
"Incident?" Sydney struggled to contain her composure. "This wasn't some incident, it was two years of my life."   
  
"In time you will recover the bulk of your memories."   
  
Sydney wondered if there was a polite way to tell the well-intentioned doctor that bulk wasn't enough. The one thing she wanted back was not the memories; she wanted the unattainable time. One lesson she'd learned was that next to freedom, the priceless commodity that so many people took for granted was time.   
  
"How are the sessions going? Have you had any negative reactions? Nightmares?"   
  
"No," she shook her head. "I'm fine."   
  
Dr. Barnett smiled and nodded. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about right now Sydney? Something you feel I've overlooked?"   
  
"No, I think we're fine."   
  
"How are you feeling? Physically?"   
  
"I'm okay," Sydney smiled. "I'm jogging, exercising, I don't feel out of shape."   
  
"You're doing well Sydney. You know this will take time, but there's no evidence to indicate that you won't be able to return to the life you left behind," the doctor encouraged, trying to sooth her.   
  
Unfortunately, Sydney knew what the medical chart in front of the doctor did not - the life she left behind had long ago crashed into extinction. She instead replied softly, "Thank you."   
  
"My door is always open. We'll schedule another session for next week, but if you think of something, have a nightmare or just need to talk, I'm here."   
  
"Thank you Dr. Barnett," Sydney said sincerely, leaning across to shake the woman's hand. She then stood and departed from the office.   
  
  
  
  
  
Dinner that night was eaten at her father's home. Jack Bristow had uncharacteristically extended a dinner invitation not only to Will but to Marcus and Sarah Dixon as well. Even with his good-natured hospitality, Sydney wasn't surprised when the invitation wasn't extended to the Flinkmans, although Carrie had pregnancy yoga that night anyway. During the meal she relayed her meeting with Barnett, noting her father's neutral _expression throughout.   
  
"Do you want to go back into the field Syd?" Dixon inquired.   
  
"Eventually," she answered honestly.   
  
"I don't think you should go back unless you have all your memories," Will suggested.   
  
Dixon looked at the senior agent, "What do you think Jack?"   
  
Jack looked at all of them before he looked back at his daughter. "This is a dangerous occupation, field grade or not. I trust Sydney's judgement. I know she'll make the right decision."   
  
Surprised by his candor, his daughter smiled and looked down at her meal. "I'm fine for now where I am."   
  
"I'm surprised Kendall hasn't put you back in the field already," Dixon conceded. "That man waits for no one."   
  
"He'll wait until Sydney's prepared," Jack insisted, an edge obvious in the undercurrent of his voice. "This is not a process that even Director Kendall can speed up, no matter how highly he thinks of himself."   
  
"You'll be back out there in no time Syd, just wait and see," Will insisted with a smile. "Tomorrow night should be good for you, just beware of some of those guys who come in by themselves."   
  
"I think I can handle myself if someone hits on me Will," she laughed.   
  
"What's going on tomorrow night?" Sarah inquired.   
  
"I'm going to be managing the restaurant for Will. He's got a date," she explained and shot her best friend a playful smile.   
  
"Are you sure it's a wise idea Sydney, to be out so late on your own?" Jack asked cautiously.   
  
"Dad," Sydney began, slightly amused at her father's unnecessary concern, "I'll be fine. There are security cameras at the restaurant and the restaurant isn't too far from the house."   
  
"I can come back after to close up with you," Will offered.   
  
She shook her head, "That's not necessary. I can handle it. I *want* to handle it."   
  
"If something comes up and you need anything, Sarah and I aren't too far away, you can always call," offered Dixon.   
  
"Thank you," she smiled at them.   
  
  
  
  
  
On her desk the next morning was a request that she go see her mother from Kendall. Vaughn arrived as she was putting her belongings down and sighing at the memo.   
  
"Where are you going?" he whispered, relieved when her body stopped seconds before it breezed by his work area.   
  
"Kendall wants me to see my mother. Apparently, making sure she continues to cooperate is part of my assignment," she explained.   
  
The wrinkles creased on his forehead as he asked in concern, "Are you okay Syd?"   
  
"Sometimes I get sick and tired of feeling as if I'm the CIA's puppet," she shrugged.   
  
"I could talk to Kendall or your father -"   
  
"It won't make a difference. This is my job." She looked around before she continued, "The ironic thing is, I chose to continue here."   
  
"This isn't an easy profession Syd, but you're good at what you do," Vaughn reminded her.   
  
"I know." She sent him a short smile. "I should go," she explained. He nodded and watched her disappear towards her mother's cell.   
  
The click of the gates sprang Irina to her feet as she waited to see her visitor's face. In custody less than a week, she'd seen Sydney far less than she had hoped for. They'd questioned her and forced her to undergo a lie detector test, only to be displeased that it showed her honesty. That could all be manipulated, she remembered as her daughter came into view. Although her daughter looked weary to see her, she still smiled as she approached the glass.   
  
"The Intel you gave the CIA was correct. We were able to get in and out of Amsterdam and Switzerland without any problems. We've also frozen all of your assets that we uncovered. We're hopeful that it might lead us to Sloane or Sark."   
  
"If anything you find links my activities to Sark or Sloane over the past two years, it's purely coincidental."   
  
"We'll see," Sydney said folding her arms. "Since you're cooperating, Kendall's agreed to give you fifteen minutes up on the roof two times a week, similar to what you formerly had."   
  
"Thank you for putting in the request for me Sydney."   
  
"I didn't. Dad did."   
  
For a moment, a rainbow of emotions waltzed across Irina's features, ranging from obvious surprise to something Sydney didn't dare put her finger on. Finally, a mask of neutrality, a poker face mirroring the famed Bristow poker face, was gelled into place. "That was very kind of him," she commented as her daughter nodded. "How are you Sydney? You look tired."   
  
"I'm fine."   
  
"Your father? He's doing well?"   
  
"Everyone's fine."   
  
"Your my daughter Sydney," Irina started, shaking her head, "I've missed so much of your life, events that made you the person you've become… and those I can never get back. But I can still tell you're not fine. This pain *will* end. That's the beauty of life. No matter how bad we feel, no matter how much pain we suffer, it never lasts forever."   
  
"I'm fine," Sydney repeated.   
  
"I wish I could go through this for you," Irina commented as her eyes softened. For an instant, Sydney even wondered if her mother was about to cry. "You do not deserve this… I've been sitting in here, thinking. I still can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had taken you with me when you were a little girl. If perhaps I could have spared you from this. Then I remember the life you've had. Sydney… and I know I couldn't have taken you from your father. You are all he has. If I had taken you, your life would have been lived in secret, always looking over your shoulder… Perhaps you blame me for all of this," she suggested. "I wouldn't hold it against you. If I'd been a better mother, a stronger person, maybe I could have prevented some of this, saved you from Sloane. You are my daughter, and if I could take away any of the pain I've caused you, I would."   
  
Sydney nodded and whispered, "Thank you."   
  
"You should go. You have work to do," Irina realized.   
  
Without hesitation her daughter nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation," she remembered. The older woman smiled with a curt nod as her daughter disappeared through the gates.   
  
  
  
  
  
Becky had left early Friday afternoon, leaving the CIA building and driving directly to her sister's. Donovan had no more energy than usual, and a quick walk through the park left him exhausted by the early evening. That left Vaughn alone in the apartment. His wife had thoughtfully left dinner for him, but he wasn't in the mood for whatever leftover combination she'd whipped up for him. In addition, he still felt a nugget of guilt. Things were not going particularly well for them at the moment, and he knew he was the origin of those problems. In his mind he even carried some weight for the only official reprimand to ever be in her file. While his mind raced, his body refused to sit still in his lounge chair.   
  
By then it was late evening, well past dinnertime, and NHL Tonight on ESPN provided the only light in the room. The apartment had only been theirs for less than three months, and they hadn't even been married for two. They'd done the decorating together before their wedding, putting their photos and books and music together, joining their lives. Becky was a quick and passionate reader, and it was one of the few hobbies that both she and Sydney enjoyed. Even with that in mind, their taste in literature wasn't all that similar. Becky had nearly every book from the Oprah Winfery Book Club, plus the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books that had belonged to her parents. There were books by Stephen King, Patricia Cornwell and John Grisham alongside Gray's Anatomy. Books by Sophocles and Virgil were stuffed in with more medical texts.   
  
If Sydney's and Becky's literary tastes were slightly different, in music they had little in common at all. When they'd first moved in together, he had wondered if Becky owned every classical CD available at the music store. Still, she managed to come home with more. Next to her Mozart there were copies of Dixieland music and Gospel, something he could always depend on her listening to on Sunday mornings. Sydney had enjoyed all types of music, but she'd never been particularly interested in classical music. That was compounded with the memory of how she'd had taken amusement and interest in his own leniency towards Guns 'N Roses, the Police and the necessity of having to listen to Springsteen at least every once in awhile.   
  
The topper for him was always Star Wars. In his mind Star Wars was one of the best, if not THE best, movie ever made. Becky *hated* Star Wars, and preferred black and white movies, especially silent films. Then there was Sydney. While she wasn't as enthusiastic about Star Wars as he was, she enjoyed it. One weekend she'd even rented the Trilogy for them to watch, although he clearly remembered that they had never made it that far out of the bedroom.   
  
Guilt and dejection set back in as he sank into the lounge chair. The house barely felt like his own, and he felt even worse for comparing the two women. Still, as he glanced around at the photos, there was no sign of Sydney, while there were three photos of Brandon in clear sight. At that moment the apartment felt suffocating. Finally he pulled to his feet, nearly tripping over a snoring Donovan. Without a second thought he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, a set destination already in mind.   
  
  
  
  
  
On the other side of town, Sydney felt proud of herself on her first night as acting manager of the restaurant. One of the waitresses had called in sick and she'd been shoved into the temporary role. Still, the customers were pleasant and she'd even picked up a few extra dollars in tips before the replacement waitresses arrived around seven thirty. By then the dinner crowd had slimmed out, and all that was really left to serve was drinks, dessert and coffee.   
  
By eight the restaurant was running smoothly. Sydney had taken over at the bar while most of the patrons were being cared for at tables. "Here's your rum and coke," she smiled as she placed the drink in front of the newest customer. He was handsome, with slightly unruly dark brown hair and big blue eyes. In another lifetime, she knew she would have found him attractive.   
  
"So what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?"   
  
It took all of her will not to roll her eyes at the cheesy line coming from a slightly intoxicated man. Mentally she gave herself a pat on the back for using more coke and less rum in his latest drink. Then she allowed the partial lie to role from her tongue, "I own the place."   
  
Perhaps it wasn't the *whole* truth. Will now owned it, but as good friends she suspected it could qualify as joint property. "Your boyfriend must be jealous, you being out all hours around plenty of attractive men like myself," he smiled.   
  
Chills ran down her spine as she recalled the man who'd once licked her face. For some reason, this man had suddenly brought that image to mind. Once again another lie flowed out without any trouble, "My husband's not the jealous type."   
  
"Oh," he sighed and began to nurse his drink. Sydney smiled at him and returned to her work.   
  
That was the only slightly unpleasant incident she'd encountered throughout the evening. The wait staff was fun to work with, mostly college kids and struggling actors. Few of them had ever even met Francie, and none of them questioned her excuse that she'd been away for two years working on her graduate studies. By ten thirty it was obvious they wouldn't be expecting any more patrons for the night, and she sent everyone home for the weekend. Finally alone, she turned up the radio and began to clean up.   
  
From the moment he stepped out of the car, having parked in front of the restaurant, he caught the notes of a familiar tune. As his footsteps approached the door he had to smile. The song was clearly the Everly Brothers' "All I Have to Do is Dream". His wife hated the song, but his mother had loved it as a child. Growing up, he gave up trying to count how many times he had heard that song. Every time it managed to put a bittersweet smile on his face.   
  
He stepped inside the nearly empty restaurant and easily spotted her. Alone in the restaurant, her back was to the door as she sang along with the song. With a dust rag slung over her shoulder he suspected she was cleaning up for the night as she set up the coffee maker. Although she was dressed only in jeans and a black tank top, and her hair in a ponytail, he knew he'd never seen anything as beautiful. By sheer luck she managed to not notice his presence as she sang, and it wasn't until after her performance that he spoke.   
  
"I thought I'd find you at the pier," he commented as she sprung around and smiled.   
  
"Nah. A clear night like tonight I'd be at the observatory," she corrected, quick to hide her surprise. "Are you hungry?"   
  
"No thanks," he dismissed and took a seat at the bar. "Is this a bad time?"   
  
Sydney shook her head and tossed a sponge onto the top of the bar. "Just cleaning up. Will's got a date tonight, so I was in charge."   
  
"Stephanie, right?" he asked as she nodded.   
  
"He was really excited, I'm sure I'll get to hear all about it tomorrow," she explained. For a few moments he just watched her concentration as she finished wiping every surface clean and then drying it down. With a smile she excused herself into the kitchen for a moment and then came back out, a tired smile on her face. "Where's Becky?"  
  
"She went to visit her sister for the weekend," he spoke. "How did your visit with your mother go?"   
  
"It was fine. As long as she continues to cooperate I'll have a standing order from Kendall to see her."   
  
"Do you think she'll continue to cooperate?"   
  
Sydney sighed and dropped her eyes from his, "I hope so," she confessed. Then she looked up to his eyes, "I'm sorry Vaughn, I know your father deserves justice but if she can -"   
  
"If she can help the CIA find Sloane, help you find out what happened, that's what's important right now," he corrected. With a dismissive sigh, her shoulders seemed to deflate as she nodded. "What's wrong Syd?" he asked softly, clearly reading her troubled _expression.   
  
Vaughn's eyes tracked her as she picked up her bag and walked around to sit next to him. "I was going through more of my things today. I needed to find my jeans, something comfortable for tonight," she explained. He nodded as Sydney reached into her bag. "I found this," she explained, pulling out a black velvet box. "Open it," she requested. To no surprise he opened the box to reveal the familiar diamond Danny had given her years earlier.   
  
"In the midst of everything that's happened to me, I actually forgot about Danny, forgot about how all of this was about finding justice for him…" She picked up the diamond and examined it. "I loved Danny very much. When I was a little girl, he was the type of man I always imagined marrying. Nothing like my father. From the moment you met him he was funny and sweet… He loved kids. I remember he wanted a big family, which was so hard for me to imagine. After my experience with my father, it was hard for me to imagine a man *wanting* children…" She paused as Vaughn remained silent, patiently waiting for her to express what she needed to share. Danny was a subject he'd always been curious about, and if she wanted to talk now he'd gladly listen.   
  
"He was so romantic… He'd bring me flowers and write poetry on those little Post-It notes and stick them to the mirrors," she recalled with a smile. "When he proposed he actually got down on his knees in the middle of the quad and sang 'Build Me Up Buttercup'. It was a song we'd heard on our first date," she explained. "I was so happy, I could never have imagined anyone doing something like that for me. If it had been anyone else I probably would have been embarrassed. I said yes, and I was so happy. The weird thing is, even when I said yes I knew it wouldn't last. My happiness, I knew it wasn't forever. I feel horrible saying it now," her head shook as she closed the ring box. "I knew it wasn't going to last Vaughn, I knew it didn't have a real chance at lasting. Still, I said yes, and I just waited for the other shoe to drop," she explained. Then she added in a soft voice, "Eventually it did. When it did, the ceiling caved in along with it."   
  
"Syd…"   
  
"I never told you much about him."   
  
"I never knew anything other than what you wrote in the debrief," Vaughn confirmed. "Are you okay?"   
  
"I'm never going to be that person again Vaughn. I'm never going to be that naive person who believes she works for the good guys."   
  
"We brought down the Alliance Syd, and we *will* bring Sloane to justice. That was all for Danny."   
  
"It wasn't," her head shook. "That's the worst part. Somewhere along the way, bringing down the Alliance stopped being about Danny. Yes, he was always there, in the back of my mind. He always will be. Instead it became about me, I needed the Alliance gone so I could have the life *I* wanted…"   
  
Vaughn reached over to grab her hand. "Danny would be proud of you Syd."   
  
Sydney looked down at the black velvet box in one hand and down at the other hand that cradled hers. "I hope he is."   
  
"His death wasn't your fault Syd, it never was. It's not your fault what happened to Danny or Francie or Noah or Emily or your father or Will."   
  
"Think about that list though Vaughn," she looked at him suddenly. "Maybe it's not my fault, but those are six people that have been in my life, six people I've *loved* and they've all either died or been hurt because of some stupid idea I had that I could be a spy at nineteen."   
  
"You were nineteen years old Syd, and you weren't the one who hurt those people. Noah chose his own fate. He was an adult, he knew what he was doing. Don't forget that he knew who you were, you weren't the one wearing a mask. Sloane is the one who hurt those people Syd, not you. He's the one who ruins lives, you're just as much a pawn in his game as they are."   
  
"I went to graduate school, I would barely sleep so I could take my classes and go on my missions… I'm starting to think I'm never going to be a teacher. I can't quit though, I can't stop until I know Sloane and Sark are dead."   
  
"You're going to be a teacher one day Syd."  
  
"Sometimes I'm not even sure that it's what I want to do. My entire life I wanted to be a teacher because of my mother, and now I'm a spy essentially because of my parents. Why do I feel doomed to do this? It feels like a family business."   
  
Vaughn squeezed her fingers and smiled. "It's more interesting than running a hardware store."   
  
"It is," she laughed. She then glanced around the restaurant and back at the clock, "I should close up."   
  
Vaughn nodded and dropped her fingers as they slowly stood. Instead of leaving, he waited until she returned from turning off the kitchen lights, and watched as she slipped on her coat. "What are you and Will doing this weekend?" he asked as she put together her belongings.   
  
"I'll probably spend tomorrow listening to him either gloat or groan over tonight, depending on the outcome," she explained as he chuckled. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Hitting the ice with some of the guys tomorrow," he answered.   
  
"Good luck," she smiled.   
  
"Have a nice weekend Syd." He stood, watching her lock up the restaurant.   
  
"You too," she waved as she walked to her car. With one last wave she got in and drove off into the night. After a few moments of watching the nearly empty street, he got into his car and did the same.   
  
A/N: Please R&R. Thank you! 


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
  
Dedication: For Linda. Remember, to write is human, to edit is divine!   
  
Authors Note: As Linda said it oh-so-eloquently, "The one that'll reduce you to tears then knock you off your feet..."  
  
Erin - "My Immortal" is my FAVORITE song from the Daredevil soundtrack. It's beautiful, isn't it? I hadn't thought of it before you mentioned it, but it does go wonderfully with the story. Thanks for pointing it out!   
  
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Sunday afternoon rolled around and with it, the unfortunate promise of Monday. Determined not to let the upcoming week get him down, Vaughn hit the ice early that afternoon with the team he'd been playing with for years. The game ran later than he had expected, but they pulled away with a 3-2 win. Still full of adrenaline from the win, he went out to an early dinner with the rest of the team, recounting the highlights of the victory. By the time he pulled into his apartment complex, the sun had all but finished its lull into slumber.   
  
The sound of Chopin greeted his ears before he even stepped foot inside the door. He was stepping inside the living room just as Becky entered from the kitchen. On her pretty features she wore a tired smile. "How was the game?"   
  
"We won," he shrugged. All of his belongings were dropped carelessly onto the rug. "When did you get back?"   
  
"A few hours ago," she explained. "Are you hungry?"   
  
Even in the living room he picked up the scent of the dinner she'd prepared. "I'll have a little something," he agreed.   
  
"It should be ready," Becky realized. Obediently he followed her into the kitchen, sunk into the uncomfortable wooden chair and watched her.   
  
On that particular evening the apartment was comfortably warm, and she was donned in shorts, a tank top and a man's dress shirt thrown over it. At that particular moment he was assaulted with the memory of how she'd never worn his clothes. During the evenings she preferred to get comfortable, even sleep, in men's clothes. They were never his though, only her father's or Brandon's. As she twirled around to get the seasoning, she smiled at him as a strap of her white sports bra slid into view. Hanes Her Way. Every undergarment she owned was Hanes Her Way. Needless to say she wasn't a Victoria's Secret kind of girl. Given all that he'd endured with Sydney, he'd enjoyed that aspect of her character. Becky was comfortable and practical. Even her light rose wedding dress had been bought out of a Chadwick's catalogue.   
  
"How's your sister?" he asked as she set two plates on the table then joined him.   
  
Becky smiled, "We had a great time. She thinks it's a great idea to open my own practice, but that's what she's always wanted me to do anyway."   
  
"Good," he approved with a slight nod of his head.   
  
"I have a few friends in the area who have their own practices. I'm going to call them this week. Hopefully get some pointers."   
  
"So you've made your decision?" he asked.   
  
"Yes, I'm handing in my two week notice tomorrow."   
  
Vaughn nodded and looked up from his meal. "Are you okay?"   
  
"I'm fine Michael. I just have a lot on my mind," she explained.   
  
"You don't have to do this Becky."   
  
"I was talking to my sister, to my friends… I *do* have to do this Michael. I don't like how this job is changing me, so I have to do something different," she calmly explained. "So, how was your weekend?"   
  
"It was fine," he shrugged.   
  
"How did Will's date go?"   
  
"He called me at eight thirty yesterday morning, he was so excited. She is, in his words, a goddess," Vaughn raised an eyebrow in amusement while his wife chuckled.   
  
"Good," she nodded. "I'm glad it went well for him. Stephanie, you said her name was, right?"   
  
"Stephanie," he agreed. "She's the sister of one of the guys he met in NA."   
  
"I didn't think they promoted staying in touch."   
  
"I think he just bumped into her," he shrugged. "Anyway, it's not like he was *really* an addict."   
  
"The other members of the group didn't know that," Becky pointed out. "Still, it's good he's getting out. His entire life can't be that restaurant and work."   
  
"He's moving on Beck, I don't know what more you expect of him. The past few years haven't been easy on him," he defended. Ironic, he thought to himself, a man he once considered a rival was now one of his closet allies.   
  
Becky looked up at him. "He's a good man Michael, I just worry about him."   
  
Vaughn nodded, fully suspecting his friend wouldn't appreciate her worrying.   
  
"He was in love with Sydney at one point, wasn't he?"   
  
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"   
  
"I was just remembering… Calm down Michael," she smiled at him. Her smile was never one that make his heart race or his pulse quicken, but it did send him a marginal amount of comfort. "The man's been through a lot in the past few years, but he is one of the best analysts the CIA has."   
  
"Will's good at what he does," he agreed. After a moment he decided to shift the topic, "Have you thought of where you'd open your practice?"   
  
"I'm going to call a real estate agent tomorrow. My sister recommended him, he's apparently very good at finding the right type of property for the right price range."   
  
Vaughn reached across the table to take her hand as he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"   
  
"Absolutely positive," she grinned."   
  
"It's going to be great," he assured her, squeezing her fingers gently before returning to his meal.   
  
  
  
  
  
On the other side of town the busy weekend was coming to a close when Will and Sydney sat down in a booth to eat dinner together. Her day had been spent with her father and it was the first moment the two had to catch up on Will's exciting weekend.   
  
"So how was it?"   
  
"Fantastic. Seriously Syd, she's great," Will's eyes widened as she laughed. "She a producer for the LA metro area's highest rated morning radio show. She has the *best* sense of humor, she's so funny Syd… I really think you'll like her."   
  
"Good," she nodded. "I'm glad it went so well. Are you going to call her?"   
  
"Already did. We're going to a Lakers' game on Thursday. So could you -"   
  
"I'll handle the restaurant Thursday night," she agreed.   
  
"Hey, how'd the meeting with Barnett go?"   
  
"Fine," Sydney shrugged and discreetly slipped a bug killer onto the table.   
  
"You don't need that," he whispered. When she looked at him in surprise he continued, "The bug killer. After you disappeared and I took over here, the CIA did a bug sweep and then installed bug killers. I have the place swept every three months and new bugs installed."   
  
"Oh." She slipped it back into her purse, surprised at how well versed Will had become. "Did I tell you that Kendall gave my mother fifteen minutes outside twice a week?"   
  
"I didn't know you'd put in a request."   
  
"I didn't. My father did."   
  
"Your father?" Will said in disbelief, his blue eyes growing wide again.   
  
"Weird, isn't it?"   
  
Will considered it for a moment. "Not really. Your father doesn't like your mother, but you don't necessarily like the people you love. Anyway, in his heart of hearts I don't think your father ever believed she was involved in your disappearance."   
  
"Sometimes…" she stopped and shook her head. "Nevermind."   
  
"No, what?"   
  
A moment later, after she'd taken a sip of her wine, she explained, "Sometimes I think that the feelings that were there never went away. Before I disappeared, my mother contacted me, told me that her love for us wasn't contrived… I guess I'd just like to believe her."   
  
"She's your mom Syd, of course you want to believe her. Have you asked your dad about it?"   
  
"Not yet," she sighed. "She's been cooperating. It's possible my father gave her the time just to have more leverage against her in the future."   
  
"Your dad is *the* master of strategy," he agreed. "Your dad isn't much of an emotional guy, so I'm guessing he won't want to talk about it anyway."   
  
"You're probably right," Sydney acknowledged.   
  
"Whatever your parents do or don't have anymore Syd, it's their problem. There's nothing you can do about it, good or bad."   
  
"I know," she sighed. "I just wish I understood…"   
  
"I doubt your parents even understand it," Will suggested. "That doesn't make you feel any better, does it?"   
  
"Not really," she smiled.   
  
"I saw Vaughn this afternoon," he commented as her head shot up. "Hockey game."   
  
"I didn't know you two played hockey together."   
  
"I called him to tell him how things with Stephanie went, and the team was short a man so he invited me."   
  
Sydney nodded, taking another sip of her wine. "That's nice."   
  
"I'm sorry Syd, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable -"   
  
"It's fine," she smiled. "It's fine. Did you win?"   
  
"Eventually, yeah. It was close though."   
  
"That's nice," she repeated. Before she could contain it, a yawn escaped her. "Sorry."   
  
"Have you heard back about the apartment?"   
  
"I have to go in and sign some papers tomorrow. Hopefully the mortgage will be approved and it'll be mine."   
  
"It's a nice place Syd, I think you'll really like it there."   
  
"I think so too," she agreed. "Thank you for dinner, but I think I'm going to head back to my dad's."   
  
Will stretched as he rose to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said and pulled her into a brief hug.   
  
"Tomorrow," she agreed as she snatched her purse, smiled at him and walked out of the restaurant.   
  
  
  
  
  
The first half of the week passed by quickly. Another meeting with her mother and a sighting of Sloane. With less than an hour's notice she'd been on a plane with her father and Dixon to Morocco. By the time they stormed his location, he was gone, although they were able to reclaim a handful of Rambaldi artifacts he'd left behind. Not many leads arose from the trip, but now the CIA was certain that whatever device Sloane and Sark had built from the artifacts was no longer in use.   
  
Vaughn hadn't been able to go to Morocco because he'd been wrapped up in tying up loose ends on a former member of the Triad when the team had been assembled. The eighteen hour wait, from the time the team left L.A. until he heard that they had found nothing, but everyone was okay, was excruciating. Eventually the call came in from Kendall, demanding his presence at the late night debrief. In addition to the artifacts, a forensic team was working to establish whether or not Sydney had been kept there during her disappearance. While in the Moroccan warehouse, they had uncovered some evidence to lead to that hypothesis, and the building had sent an unpleasant flash of deja vu through Sydney's veins. They wouldn't be certain for awhile, but it was a lead that they wouldn't have had otherwise.   
  
Thursday Sydney stayed busy managing the restaurant. The crowds were nothing compared to the weekend rush, but it kept her occupied and she even picked up a few tips. For her, the best part was the coffee she shared with Will later that night as he recounted his date. It was obvious by his animated recollection of the evening that he was crazy about Stephanie. While he never confirmed it, she strongly suspected it was the first relationship he'd had since Francie disappeared. This girl, whoever she was, was making him happy. Internally, however, she made a note to do a background check on this girl before things got too serious.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Do you want to go the Kings' game next weekend? Eric's got some tickets but he can't use them," Will explained.   
  
The two sat eating dinner Friday night at the restaurant. The crowds were starting to gather and once in a while one of the wait staff would briefly pull Will from the table. Sydney had nearly been left to run the restaurant again when Vaughn called saying that his hockey team was a man short for the night, but Will politely declined the offer.   
  
"Maybe," she shrugged.   
  
"I'm sorry Syd, I forgot, you and Vaughn -"   
  
"It's fine Will," she silenced him with a smile. "You could have gone tonight, I could have run the restaurant."   
  
"Two weeks in a row? No, it's okay. Personally I'm still a little sore from the last game."   
  
"Are you going to invite Stephanie to see you play?" she teased.   
  
Will's cheeks burned. "Soon. Maybe."   
  
"I'm sure you're good and I'm sure she'd love to see you play."   
  
"I don't want to take things too quickly."   
  
"Take your time Will. If this girl is as good as she sounds, she'll wait."   
  
"When should I tell her about Francie?" he whispered. Then a moment later his eyes widened as he hissed, "*What* do I tell her about Francie?"   
  
"The truth," she calmly spoke. "That you were involved with your best friend, romantically, and she was murdered. Don't tell her anything more. As a rule, people usually don't ask more than you're willing to tell them on things like that."   
  
Will shook his head and for a moment as he nursed his beer. "You don't think this is too soon?"   
  
"It's been two years now Will," she assured him. Ironically, she wanted to hate Vaughn for acting on the very advice she was now preaching to Will. Still, it was different, or at least she consoled herself with that. Francie was dead, no doubt about it; she'd just been missing.   
  
"I just don't know how much time is long enough."   
  
"I don't think there are rules. It's different for everyone," she recalled. Four years before - it felt like far less - she'd fallen in love with Vaughn. It'd been less than two years since Danny's death. Now he had moved on from her, and she struggled to understand how it could have happened so fast.   
  
Will studied his beer, slowly tearing the label off of the sweating bottle, when a chirping of a cell phone surrounded them. Quickly he checked his own before he shook his head and looked at her. Sydney pulled her phone out of her bag, seeing an unfamiliar number on the ID.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Hi. Sydney?"   
  
"Yes. Who is this?" her brow creased as Will studied her carefully.   
  
"Becky… Becky Vaughn. I hope it's okay that I've called you. I was hoping you could meet me."   
  
The creases grew deeper. "Now?"   
  
"If that's okay. I was hoping I could meet you at the pier in maybe half an hour?" she suggested.   
  
On her side of the line Sydney remained silent.   
  
"I won't take much of your time Agent Bristow."   
  
"Sure," she sighed. "I'll be there in half an hour."   
  
"Thank you," Becky spoke and hung up.   
  
Will watched her put her phone back into her bag and place her napkin back on the table. "Who was that?"   
  
"Dr. Vaughn."   
  
"Becky?" his eyes widened.   
  
"She wants to see me."   
  
"Now?"   
  
"I guess," Sydney shrugged. "I think it's important."   
  
"Do you want me to come with you?"   
  
She paused to look at him. "I can handle myself."   
  
He chuckled, "Good point."   
  
"I think I'm going to go back to my dad's when this is over," she explained as he stood to hug her. "I'll see you tomorrow."   
  
"Breakfast? My place?"   
  
"Sure," she agreed. "I'll bring the food and make it though."   
  
"Good idea," he chuckled. "Be careful Syd, okay?"   
  
"I'll be fine," she smiled and disappeared from the restaurant.   
  
  
  
  
  
The pier was basically empty as her feet caused the boards to creak under her. The ocean hummed underneath the planks as she rested against the railing. Becky Vaughn was nowhere in sight, but Sydney was a few minutes early. Instead she looked out at the water, wondering if they would ever find her beeper if they searched the water for a body or evidence of some other non-related crime. It was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed to her, since she'd been there last.   
  
"Thank you for coming," Becky spoke.  
  
Sydney looked over, surprised at the sight. She was several inches shorter than Sydney had thought, and it dawned on her for the first time, that the good doctor had worn high heels in the office. In her jeans and T-shirt and her hair in an unkempt braid, she hardly looked like a threat. "Is everything okay?"   
  
"I'm a psychiatrist, I'm used to doing the listening," she explained. Still confused, Sydney nodded. "I wanted to talk. I just thought you might need to hear this," she suggested.   
  
"What do you want to talk about?"   
  
"Michael told me you loved it here… Sometimes he still comes here, just to walk and think, probably about you," she noted. The brunette looked down at her hands as Becky cleared her throat. "I'm from Connecticut. I don't know if you knew that or not, but that's where I'm from. The only state in America that's both in New England and considered to be part of the New York tri-state," she smiled. Sydney looked up, silent as the woman continued, "I grew up not too far from New York City, but closer to Yale. The Borough of Woodmont, it's technically a part of Milford but it's considered fairly exclusive… I love it there. The water, the smell of it, the people… I was lucky to have the childhood I did. Very lucky. Private schools all the way, the same babysitter from the time I was six until I was in junior high. A great girl, a sweet girl… Then I started high school," she sighed.   
  
Sydney took her silent cue, "What happened?"   
  
"I went to this private high school, it was small. Most of us knew each other, if not by name, then by face," she said as the wind blew her hair. "There was this boy… He was in my homeroom junior year, and we'd had a few classes together. Everyone knew him, and everyone liked him. He was hardly the most popular boy, but he was friends with everyone. He'd been athletic - played baseball and basketball - and *so* smart… Much smarter then I was. I wasn't a poor student, and my teachers liked me, but he was in AP classes and… Just amazing," she vividly recalled.   
  
"Somehow, I don't even remember now, he knew my name. Junior year, he ended up on crutches and in a wheelchair for most of the school year, re-cooperating from a couple of foot and knee surgeries. I have a chronically bad back, so when I'd leave class a few minutes early to go to the next class, I'd see him. We weren't allowed to talk in the halls, but from down the hallway he'd stop and yell that Duke basketball was better than UConn basketball and I would be so embarrassed because the school could hear us, and so happy because he was *flirting* with me. We'd debate baseball - I loved the Yankees and he loved the Kansas City Royals. I thought it was so bizarre that he rooted for the Royals, but it turned out that his first little league team had been the Royals, so he felt this loyalty to them. That was so sweet.   
  
"Junior year he was named Prom King & had been named to the Homecoming court since freshman year… We were friends. Freshman year of college I had a growth spurt, but until then I was noticeably short and he was already 6'3" by the time we were juniors. So he'd get my books from the top of my locker for me or carry them for me. Senior year our desks were right next to each other and we started talking about things other than sports. The first month of school the building blew this massive fuse in the morning and he drove me home when we were dismissed early. I was getting out of the car and out of the blue this boy just leaned over and kissed me. For me it was just so out of left field, but looking back on it, I suppose I should have seen it coming.   
  
"Our parents were not happy about it, but we got married. Brandon got accepted to Georgetown and I went to a community college down there and transferred in my junior year of college. After graduation he worked as an elementary school teacher. He loved it, he took care of kids while I was in school… I was almost a year into my residency when he died. We were talking about children, and were looking to buy a house. Things were just starting to go well for us. I had him for eight years, almost nine, but one thing he taught me is that no time is *ever* enough, and you get down on your knees every night and thank God for what you are given," she advised.   
  
"Brandon was sweeter than I ever thought any boy could be. He was thoughtful and funny and I never thought he was more attractive than when he was lounging around the house in his sweatpants and old football jersey… Whether I like it or not, that boy was the love of my life."   
  
"What does this have to do with me?" Sydney whispered, hesitant to end Becky's sweet story.   
  
"I'm trained to observe things Sydney, to pick up from a few moments of conversation what other people take years to see. Still, even if I weren't, it would be obvious that you love Michael. You love him like I loved Brandon. That's how I wish I could love Michael, but a love like that… It's only once in a lifetime, if you're lucky. Then you settle for what you can get. For comfortable, for companionship," Becky sighed. "Sometimes Sydney, it's just better than being alone," she explained and chuckled bitterly. "Really, it's ironic, because that's not the type of person my parents raised me to be. When I lost Brandon… I swore I'd never get married again. Then I met Michael, and he understood. He understood what I needed and what I wanted and my pain. So it didn't seem so bad."   
  
"Becky - " she started.   
  
"Please, let me finish," she requested. After a moment Sydney nodded and returned to her silence. "From the moment I walked into my office and introduced myself, you've hated me. I don't blame you for hating me, or expect otherwise. In your position I'd detest me too," Becky agreed. "I was never Michael's psychiatrist. They sent him to me, briefly, for grief counseling. That's how I met him, then we just started going out to talk over coffee. Then we started to date," she recalled. "For the first twelve dates all he did was talk about you. Trust me, I counted, it was twelve."   
  
Sydney was loath to interrupt but couldn't help herself, "I thought you only dated for three months."  
  
"Seriously for three, but as a whole it was probably closer to eight months," she considered. "We took things slow, very slow. Then on the thirteenth date things changed. He didn't mention you, not once. After that he kept postponing the next date. When I finally tracked him down, I swear I could watch the guilt eat him alive," Becky recalled. "I told him it was okay. That I hated myself for the first morning I woke up not crying, for the first day that went by and he wasn't on my thought at every moment… Still it was okay. Life needs to go on."   
  
"I'm sorry, I don't know what this has to do with me?"   
  
"Everything and nothing," Becky conceded. "I see myself in so many ways Sydney, so many types of people I want to be. For so many reasons right now I'm not that person," she whispered as she wiped a few lingering tears from her cheeks. Sydney then watched as she reached into her jacket and pulled something out. "Here," she said as she placed the warm, silver object into Sydney's hands.   
  
"What is this?"   
  
"It belonged to Robert, Michael's grandfather. It's a family heirloom. In his… misguided attempt to assimilate me into his life, he gave it to me."   
  
"Why are you telling me this?" Sydney asked, wondering if Becky was trying to be cruel and unusual. Of course she recognized the watch; it was his father's watch, and Michael could have set his heart by it. That said, it stopped on October 1st, 2001, the day they met.   
  
"It doesn't belong to me," she shook her head. "I knew when he gave it to me that I wouldn't have it for long. It never belonged to me. If it belongs to anyone other then Michael, it's you."   
  
As she studied the watch she pursed her lips together, "You were waiting for the other shoe to drop."  
  
"Something like that," Becky chuckled. "I can't get up and look at myself in the mirror anymore Sydney. I can't be married knowing that the woman Michael really has that special connection to is out there, and needs him. If Brandon came back, I'd want Michael to understand, to let me go back to him… Being alone sucks," she sighed, "but it's better than what I'm doing now. Everyone's miserable, and I hate that."   
  
"What are you going to do?"   
  
"I'm leaving the CIA. I gave in my two weeks notice last Friday, but I'm using the rest of my PTO time next week. I have to talk to Michael, there are so many things we need to work out…"   
  
"You're going to leave L.A.," Sydney realized.   
  
"My sister lives nearby, but the rest of my family is still in Connecticut. UConn's basketball team is pretty good this year, and I miss being able to watch them. And you should see the bills I have for getting Yankee games on Pay-Per-View," she joked as the brunette cracked an uncomfortable smile. "I love Michael, Sydney, but you love him more. My marriage is a mess anyway… We could have made it work, but I can't do this anymore. I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror, to be proud of the work I do as a psychiatrist, and right now I can't do either."   
  
Sydney looked down at the warm metal in her hand and then back up at Becky. "Thank you."   
  
The redhead sighed and rested her head on her palm. "No one's happy right now. I don't know what's going to make me happy, but I know I can't find it here."   
  
"When are you leaving?"   
  
"Next weekend, probably. I need to clear up some things… speak to Michael. Take care of yourself though Sydney. Don't let this darkness take you from him again."   
  
"I won't," she promised.   
  
With one more smile Becky turned around and disappeared into the dark night.   
  
A/N: What do you think? I think I redeemed myself from the slightly off chapter 12. I dragged it out to thirteen, I'm so proud of myself! She's from Connecticut because, well, I am. Plus it's the only state I know of where you've got Red Sox, Mets & Yankees fans all in the same place. Pretty nuts, huh? Oh, the Borough of Woodmont IS real, it's right across the town border from where I live - it's where my Mom wants to live one day. I wish I lived there. I think that's it. Please tell me what you think, as always. 


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
  
Dedication: For Secret Agent Girl. What IS your name? lol, I'd love to put it in the story (or one of the stories) somewhere, and Erin because now I'm listening to "My Immortal" obsessively as I write this fic. Well, that and John Mayer.   
  
A/N: I was thinking, I don't know about you guys but I listen to a lot of music when I write my stuff. Or when I read something - helps set the mood. If anyone's interested, I've primarily been listening to "My Immortal" (Evanescence - sp?); "Back to You" (John Mayer) & "You're Missing" (Bruce Springsteen) while writing this fic. Especially "My Immortal" and "You're Missing". Just a thought. Or really anything equally depressing will do.   
  
*  
  
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*  
  
*  
  
~*Back to me  
  
I know that it comes  
  
Back to me  
  
Doesn't it scare you  
  
Your will is not as strong  
  
As it used to be*~ John Mayer, Back to You   
  
Will was half-awake when he stumbled to answer his front door, surprised to see Sydney standing there. Still, he was more surprised to see the pools in her eyes. She looked up as the door creaked open and met his gaze, whispering, "Becky's leaving Vaughn."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Becky's going to leave Vaughn," she sniffled. "I thought that was what I wanted…So why am I so scared?"  
  
"Syd," he sighed and pulled her into the house. "How'd you find this out?"  
  
"She told me. I ruined their marriage."  
  
"You haven't done anything wrong, you've just been yourself," he assured her. Seconds later he had her sitting on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "Are you sure she's going to leave him?"  
  
A slight nod of her head was followed by her sniffles. "She's going home to Connecticut. How could I let this happen?"  
  
"Becky and Michael are grown ups. If she's leaving him now then their marriage probably wasn't all that great to begin with."  
  
"They loved each other."  
  
Will sighed and handed her a tissue. "We both know that's not always enough."  
  
"Why am I scared?"  
  
"You're the bravest person I know Syd," he assured her, resting his arms around her on the sofa. "Whatever you're scared of, I know you won't let it keep you down. You can't blame yourself for this either. If Becky leaves Michael, it's her decision."  
  
"I know I was a factor," she sniffled.  
  
"You didn't do anything wrong. Neither you nor Michael would betray her like that. This is her decision. This is *her* life. If she felt that they legitimately had a chance, I don't think she'd be giving up this quickly."  
  
"I just want my life back. Two years, no one has the right to take two years from me," she began to cry.  
  
"They don't," Will calmly agreed. "We're going to get them Syd. Each day we're closer. Maybe when things finally settle down, your life will be even better than it was."  
  
"I had almost everything I wanted," Sydney recalled. "My two best friends were happy, I had the man I loved, a job I was making a difference in…"  
  
"You still have me Syd. You have your Dad. Dixon, Marshall, Carrie, we're all here for you. You still make a difference at the CIA," he reminded her. Then softly he added, "We both know you'll always have Vaughn. Maybe not the way you did before, but he'll always be there for you."  
  
"Can I stay here tonight?" Her request was muffled against the fabric of his T-shirt. "I know my Dad will want an explanation, and I don't want to talk anymore."  
  
"Sure Syd, you can stay as long as you like," he promised, holding her until she fell asleep.  
  
  
  
The next morning, breakfast was an uncharacteristically silent affair in the Vaughn household. Breakfast had already been placed on the table when he emerged from the shower, and Becky smiled at him as she took a sip of her orange juice. She'd already been fast asleep on the sofa when he'd returned from his hockey game the night before, although she did leave a plate of dinner in the microwave for him. Halfway through the meal she finally broke the silence. "Did you ever watch the X-Files?"  
  
"What? Why?" he replied, obviously caught off guard by his wife's question.  
  
"A few days ago…Maybe it was a few weeks now," she struggled to remember. "I was in the parking garage at work and I saw you and Sydney. You weren't doing anything wrong, just holding hands, talking. In that moment I had this horrible realization Michael. All I could think was, I was Diana Fowley to your Mulder and Sydney's Scully. I *hated* that woman. Don't get me wrong, Mimi Rogers is a wonderful actress, but I hated the character. She was so obviously put there just to make Scully jealous, especially since everyone knew her and Mulder belonged together -"  
  
Michael reached over to seize her hand. "Beck. I never saw whatever episode you're talking about," he explained. With a half smile he added, "You're babbling."  
  
"I am, aren't I?" she realized. "For a season, maybe a season and a half, I loathed the sight of Diana Fowley. I would get so mad… She didn't belong, she was just interfering. The relationship between Mulder and Scully, the X-Files in general, it was something she had no business being a part of. When I saw you and Sydney together, just talking, I realized that *I* was interfering on something I had no part of. Something that I'll *never* have a part of," Becky calmly spoke.  
  
Across from her his wrinkles emerged, "What are you talking about?"  
  
"You and Sydney. When I was with Brandon, all of my energy was focused on *him*, on loving him and being with him. That's how it's supposed to be. I strode to do better in school and be better as a person for *him*. Brandon loved me with all my quirks and lukewarm academic achievement but I wanted to make him proud. At the end of a day I'd want to go home and either tell him everything or just rest in his arms. Right now, if someone called and told me that he was back, he was alive and needed me. I'd drop everything, Michael."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You dropped everything for Sydney. You were out of here in less than fifteen minutes from the moment Kendall called. The thing is, if Brandon came back, I'd want to be with him. I can't fault you for wanting that with Sydney."  
  
Distress crossed his strong features. "Beck, I never said -"  
  
"Actions speak louder than words. Not to say you've done anything wrong, I know you haven't, but it's obvious. We could have been happy, but now that Sydney's back . . . I love you, and the best thing I can do for you is let you go."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I hate being alone, but I'm not happy. Not here, not with the agency. You are an amazing agent, and an incredible man. You've helped me through so much, and I hope that I've helped you too. This isn't what we want though. This isn't easy," she conceded as her chin started to tremble. "My tenure officially ends with the agency on Friday, but I'm using the remainder of my PTO days this upcoming week. I'm going to start packing and making arrangements. I'd like to get an annulment and I'd also like us to remain friends. I don't think that's too much to ask."  
  
"Maybe you just need some time Becky, we could take some time -"  
  
"You can run but you can't hide." She wiped away her tears and continued, "You can't argue or try to reason with me on this Michael. I've done nothing but think about this for a long time. Eventually it was my sister who convinced me that I had the strength to do this. That I had to. This is for me too. I'm going to go back home. Maybe set up a   
  
practice, maybe not. I might just do some work for my mother's business . . . I haven't decided yet. I'm thirty-six years old, I shouldn't be afraid of being on my own anymore. You have been incredible Michael, and the time I had with you I would never change."  
  
"I can't believe this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't think to consult me on this?" he stood and glared at her.  
  
"Why?" She pulled to her feet. "Michael you would have tried to talk me out of it and if I hadn't made a decision I might have let you. You're a good man. You're one of the few I know who still firmly believes in the sacred nature of a marriage. Still, I don't think it'll be hard to prove to the church that you weren't in your right mind when you married me. You're *still* not in your right mind."  
  
"I'm fine!"  
  
"No, you're not." Becky calmly shook her head. "You're miserable, twisted in a thousand different pieces. First you were drenched with grief and now you've added guilt. I *know* you love me, but you're never going to look at me the way you look at her. I'm not angry and you shouldn't be either. I'm just tired."  
  
"My wife is leaving me and you say I shouldn't be angry?"  
  
Becky shrugged. "Call it a pre-emptive strike. I'm being realistic. Now that Sydney's back, we didn't have a chance in hell at a good marriage. One thing you and I are both cursed with is a guilty conscience. From the moment you looked her in the eye and told her you were married, I've watched you silently beat the crap out of yourself. Then when I met her and saw how devastated she was by all of this, I've hated myself. So I'm saving both of us the trouble."  
  
Vaughn sat back down and glared at her, "You had no right to make this decision without me."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not," she conceded. "It was *my* decision to make though. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to do this. One day I'm hoping you might even thank me for it."  
  
"We were building a life together Becky!"  
  
"You were going to build a life with Sydney too. That chance got taken from both of you. I'm giving it back to you."  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
"Because since Sydney's come back I've done nothing but put myself in your shoes. If it were me, I'd want you to give me the same respect, the same opportunity. You and Sydney . . . The difficulties in your relationship were set into motion decades before you ever met. Nothing will ever be easy, but it could be incredible. Some of the toughest years of my life were spent with Brandon; things were difficult financially and I was exhausted, he was overworked . . . yet they were still the best years of my life," she fondly recalled. Becky took a moment to compose herself and continued. "One thing you love to play is the comforter, the protector. You're good at that Michael, you can stay calm and strong when the rest of the world is in shambles. You were that for me, years after I believed I stopped needing one. It's one thing for me to need you, but it's an entirely different horse when Sydney needs you. I've seen that woman's file Michael, she deserves her own damn Barbie!" Becky's eyes widened. From his position near the refrigerator he couldn't help but laugh. "Of all the men in the world, she needs *you*, and I think you need her too. So keep working at it, take things slow. That woman loves you and as long as she thinks she has a snowball's chance in hell with you, she's not going to go anywhere."  
  
"You deserve someone fantastic, you know that?" he softly inquired.  
  
She smiled and slowly stood. "I'm being a bit selfish here too. Like I said, it's what I'd want you to do if things were the other way around."  
  
"What do we do now?" Vaughn sighed, his arms crossed as his back rested against the cold refrigerator door. "Do I take the sofa?"  
  
"No," she laughed. For a moment he remembered the first time he'd heard her melodic laugh and recalled how desperately he'd wanted to melt into that sound. "I take the sofa. You're much too tall. I'm going to stay with my sister, either tomorrow night or Tuesday. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to pack."  
  
"You don't have to go right away Beck, take your time -"  
  
"I want to go. My life in Los Angeles, my life with you, is over. Plus, the sooner I'm out of here, the sooner I can start crying," she forced a small smile. With a sad sigh he pulled his wife into his arms. In his arms Vaughn felt her body quiver and her hands grip his shirt before she began to cry. "I *know* I'm doing the right thing," she pushed out through her tears. "Damn it Michael, I *know*."  
  
"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?" he replied, his head on top of hers. "Becky, I never meant to hurt you."  
  
"Please," she pulled back to meet his features. In the dark kitchen light his green eyes seemed even darker, more beautiful than usual. "Just promise me something," Becky softly requested as she used one hand to wipe away her tears.  
  
"What is it?"   
  
"Promise me you don't waste this. I don't expect it to happen overnight but *please* don't be stupid. I need to know that you're going to be with her, that I'm not doing this completely stupid thing for no reason."  
  
"You don't know Sydney," Vaughn chuckled. "She's not going to let it go that easily."  
  
"Nor should she. Neither of us intended to, but we hurt her. Sydney wasn't there; she'll never completely understand the hell you went through. Don't you dare give up on her though, or you're a fool."  
  
"The CIA frowns up fraternization between agents," he stoically reminded her.  
  
Becky laughed and gently pulled from his gaze. Calmly she sat at the table, her face still slightly red and puffy from her recent outburst. "The CIA rules never seemed to matter too much to either of you," she pointed out, taking a bite of her now lukewarm breakfast. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, the CIA won't do anything to you. You've proven to be one of the best agents out there, and Sydney's reputation proceeds her. Plus you'll have Jack Bristow on your side. I doubt anyone would say anything. Just be discreet."  
  
He rejoined her and shook his head, "I can't believe I'm getting relationship advice from my wife."  
  
"I love you Michael, and I can't watch you spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over what happened with Sydney. Don't get me wrong, part of me hates you, hates that we both put ourselves in this situation . . . I don't want to have a nasty divorce. I've seen the inside of too many of those. I want us to be friends. I want to talk to you when this is over, to know that I did the right thing."  
  
"Did you know you're one of the most incredible people I've ever met?"   
  
Becky smiled for a moment and grew serious, "But I'm no Sydney Bristow, just like you'll never be Brandon."  
  
"I wish I could bring him back for you Beck."  
  
"You have Sydney back. I've prayed and wished day in and day out since I met you that you had some sort of resolution to all of this, some closure. This was obviously not what I had in mind, it's really a miracle," she smiled as her husband twisted uncomfortably. "I know you're not a particularly religious person Michael, but it gives me comfort. For me this is the closest I'll ever get to seeing a miracle."  
  
"Do miracles mean happy endings?"  
  
"I hope so."  
  
Headquarters was filled with the appropriate amount of non-eager agents come Monday morning. Another weekend had passed too quickly and it was back to the surprisingly dull business of national security. For a handful of agents, however, the weekend had been perhaps too long.   
  
Sydney was one of those agents as she entered the building with her father. Jack had asked all the right questions over the weekend, interested but not too eager to know what had caused his daughter's impromptu sleepover with Will Tippin. When he'd discovered her in the kitchen on the earliest hours of Monday, nursing a mug of lukewarm tea, he sat in silence with her. She'd felt no desire to talk, and he was more than willing to be her silent rock.  
  
Kendall had scheduled a debrief first thing that morning. The director strode confidently into the conference room, his features contorting when he saw that he was only greeted by six faces, when he was certain he'd expected seven. Judging by the confusion on several of the agents' faces, they were just as confused as he was. "Where the hell is Sydney?" he demanded to know.  
  
Jack straightened in his chair. "My daughter went to see Agent Kerr."  
  
"I didn't schedule her next appointment until Wednesday," Kendall recalled.  
  
"She felt it was more important to go see Agent Kerr than it was to be here," Jack explained.  
  
"The whole damn point of this conference was to discuss what the forensic team found in Morocco related to Sydney's disappearance!"  
  
"Sydney asked for my clearance to miss the meeting to go see Agent Kerr. I agreed with her assessment that it was more important," Jack replied. "I didn't think it would be an issue."  
  
"Why don't we just reschedule until this afternoon?" Dixon calmly rationalized.  
  
"The point is that Agent Bristow should have cleared this with *me*," Kendall shot back.  
  
"Listen, Syd's not here, she had to go see Agent Kerr. Isn't it sort of important that she gets her memories back? Her memories are more likely to give us leads on Sloane than whatever we found in Morocco," Will reasoned.  
  
"I want to have a word with your daughter before she leaves today," Kendall looked at Jack.  
  
His face blank, Jack replied, "I don't think that's necessary. Sydney had my approval. Is this or is this not a joint-task between the FBI and CIA? You're FBI, I'm CIA. I gave her clearance, that's all she needed."  
  
"You two aren't going to start fighting, are you? Because Carrie's pretty pregnant, any unnecessary tension -"  
  
"Marshall," the two directors barked at once.  
  
"This meeting is postponed, and someone please tell Agent Bristow that she *better* be here at two," Kendall snapped as the group disbanded.  
  
  
  
Unaware of the conflict her absence caused, Sydney walked to Kerr's office with purpose. The door clicked open as Kerr looked up, surprise briefly on her face before she smiled. "Sydney. What are you doing here?"  
  
"I had a nightmare," she explained before she shook her head. "Only it wasn't a nightmare, I was *remembering*."   
  
"You had a flashback," Kerr corrected and silently offered Sydney a seat. "What, exactly, happened in your flashback?" she questioned, having placed a small recorder on the table and pressed record.  
  
"I was in Morocco. The warehouse, I was *there*, and then I wasn't."  
  
"Do you remember where they took you?"  
  
"Not exactly," her head shook in frustration. "I saw signs, heard dialect . . . I don't have any proof, but I think I was in Rome."  
  
"Rome?"  
  
"It makes sense, doesn't it? We know I was with Sloane and everything about Sloane goes back to Rambaldi. He was the architect to the Pope, the Vatican is in Rome. Whatever he needed… whatever he needed me to for, I think it might have been in Rome."   
  
"Do you remember anything else?"  
  
"Sark. I remember bits and pieces of him, questioning me, threatening me . . . They'd tell me things, things I didn't possibly think could be true."  
  
"What type of things did they tell you Sydney?"  
  
Sydney readjusted her body in the chair and scratched her forehead. Kerr noted how the agent avoided looking directly at her. "About my father, how he was in a wheelchair. That the CIA had given up on finding me alive, that people thought I was a traitor…Anything to get me to cooperate."  
  
"So you refused to cooperate?"  
  
"Of course I did! I don't remember much, but I do remember whatever the hell they used me for, I was uncooperative!"  
  
"Calm down Sydney," Kerr soothed. "You're safe now, I'm not making any accusations, I just want to understand."  
  
"I know," she sighed and crossed her arms. "I know that, I do, but now I'm remembering all the things they told me. So much of it was lies, but I'm just trying to understand when they were telling the truth."  
  
"Did they ever say anything about why they needed you?"  
  
"I-I-I don't remember yet," she stuttered uncomfortably. "I don't want to have another therapy session, not yet. I want to see what else I can remember without assistance."  
  
"We can postpone it a few days, give you some time," Kerr agreed.   
  
"I remember Sloane told me I had brought it upon myself. If I hadn't found out about Francie…If I hadn't tried to find him after the Alliance fell . . . He tried to convince me that I did it to myself. I know I didn't, but he tried to make me think I had."  
  
"Arvin Sloane is a very persuasive man, there's no other way he could have accomplished what he did."  
  
"I know all of his tricks. No one knows better than I do, what sort of horrible person he is. I've met so many types of people in this business, so many undesirable characters, but no one makes me as sick to my stomach as Sloane does. I don't know how long it's going to take me, but I will find him and I will bring him back."  
  
"You went to Morocco, correct? To follow up the lead on Sloane and Sark?" Kerr asked.  
  
"Yes," Sydney agreed. "I went to Morocco. Being there apparently helped spur my memories."  
  
"You're getting them back Sydney, that's a good sign. Your reappearance is the best lead we have on Sloane, you are your own best shot at catching him." Kerr smiled warmly at the brunette and then dismissed her. There was nothing else to share, and it was obvious the agent held no desire to be there longer than necessary.   
  
  
  
  
  
Sydney was greeted by a breathless Marshall, who took nearly five minutes to convey the message that the debrief had been rescheduled in her absence. Still a few hours stood between her and whatever burst of temper Kendall would certainly share with her that afternoon. Instead she sat down and got down to work, eager to concentrate on something other than the newly discovered memories.  
  
"Congratulations Agent Bristow, this seems to be your lucky day," Kendall declared as he swaggered into the conference room. "Not only did we uncover evidence that you were in Morocco for a significant time, Agent Kerr also tells me you've uncovered a bit of your memories on your own."  
  
Nearly every head in the room swished to look at Sydney. The strength of her chin and the sharp curve of her back never faltered when she replied, "Yes. I believe I was being held in Rome."  
  
"Good. I'll want to establish a better idea of why you were there or better yet where you were before we dispatch a team," the director explained. For a moment the group that had gathered watched his stance soften as he briefly looked at Sydney, "Will you be okay to continue with the dispatch or do you need to go home?"  
  
"I'm fine," she was quick to promise.   
  
Just as fast as it appeared, the nearly undetectable softness disappeared from Kendall's features. "Good. As I said before, we now have proof that you were in Morocco. The forensics team isn't certain, but they estimate that it was anywhere from four to six months. They found evidence in various parts of the warehouse and property, so it's possible you thought they'd relocated you when they just moved you around the property," Kendall droned on. "I expect you'll want to be on the team that goes to Rome Agent Bristow?"  
  
"Yes," she agreed.   
  
The director sighed, "Jack?"  
  
"Sydney's trips into the field will be at her own discretion until she is given a field grade," Jack commented.   
  
"What type of evidence did the team in Morocco discover?" Dixon questioned.  
  
Kendall's lips pierced together. "Among other things, forensic evidence, DNA . . . "   
  
"What do you mean among other things?" Sydney's eyes grew.  
  
For a moment Kendall met Jack Bristow's eyes and for the first time they seemed to have reached a silent understanding. The FBI director sighed and placed a remote control in front of her. A horrible sense of deja vu surged through her veins as the group slowly began to disband towards the door, taking their cue from the directors. Vaughn accidentally met her gaze across the room as he began to get up, the last of the group to leave her be. Sydney picked up the remote as she heard his footsteps approach the door.   
  
"Stay," she quietly requested.  
  
Without turning around, she swore she could hear his internal debate. Finally the conference room door slid to a close, and she heard him settle into the seat behind her. "Are you sure you want to see this?" Vaughn asked quietly.  
  
Still she didn't look at him. "I don't know," she confessed. Then she pressed 'play'.  
  
Arvin Sloane was either the most egotistical or the most voyeuristic person she'd ever met. Perhaps he was both. Briefly she considered that he'd left the tape behind on purpose. Either way, the scene started out nearly benign. There was no sound, and the image was grainy. Years of training served as a double-edged sword, as she clearly saw what the tape was portraying. The image of herself tied down in a chair. For the next fifteen minutes they endured a morage of scenes. People neither of them recognized approached her, and it appeared as though she struggled as she was injected with some unknown substance. Towards the end Sloane appeared, and while it wasn't clear what he was telling her, it was obvious Sydney was doing her best to dish it out as good as she was getting it. Finally the feed died away to snow. Behind her Vaughn was stunned, rubbing his temples as he studied Sydney's reaction.   
  
"Syd?"  
  
Her elbows rested on the table, her chin settled onto her folded hands as they sat in silence. "I don't consider myself a violent person Vaughn," Sydney finally spoke. "I don't usually support the death penalty either, but when the time comes I want to be the one to pull the switch."  
  
"We could probably arrange that."  
  
With a chuckle she sat back in her chair and looked at him, "Promise?"  
  
"We're going to find him," he promised her, his _expression sincere. "Are you okay?"  
  
Sydney met his eyes, silently wondering how things had gone with Becky. Certainly the CIA conference room was not the place to bring it up, but the curiousity lingered, even as the subject remained untouched. "I'm fine," she assured him, internally wondering the same thing about him.   
  
"Rome?"  
  
"Yeah," she nodded. "I think so. It makes sense, doesn't it? We can only assume Rambaldi lived or at least worked in the area when he worked as an architect to the Pope. Everything about Sloane goes back to Rambaldi, I just wished I'd thought of it sooner."  
  
"You'll remember everything Syd, it's just going to take some time."  
  
The door clicked open as both turned to see Jack Bristow expectantly in the doorframe. "Sydney?"  
  
Silently Vaughn looked at her before he respectfully brushed by Jack and out of the room. "I'm fine Dad," she promised him once Vaughn was gone.  
  
"You know better than anyone how manipulative Sloane is. We have to anticipate that every piece of evidence we find was left with a purpose. This man never leaves anything behind by accident."  
  
"Why did he want me to see this?"  
  
"To flaunt that he had you all along? I've been in this business a long time and motive is rarely easy to understand."  
  
"I didn't mean to upset Kendall -"  
  
"I dealt with it Sydney, don't concern yourself with Director Kendall," Jack assured her. "Why don't you go home? You've had a long day."  
  
Jack watched her shoulders droop as she looked back at the snowy screen. "Are there any more tapes?"  
  
"No. Not that we've discovered," he explained. "Go home Sydney."  
  
After a moment of internal debate she stood. At the doorway she exchanged a prolonged look with her father before she disappeared into the cluster of CIA agents.  
  
  
  
The remaining hours in the day dragged on for Vaughn. By the time he approached his apartment complex he felt as if he'd worked eighty hours as opposed to the eight and a half he'd actually clocked in. Not that the CIA paid by the hour, his mind quipped as he pulled his car into a slot. Wearily he grabbed his briefcase and was already making short work of his tie and the first buttons of his dress shirt when he arrived on his floor.  
  
Approaching the apartment he realized that the door was opened. Mere steps from the door a familiar figure of medium height with burnette hair walked out. "Linda," he spoke in greeting. The woman he'd called his sister in law for the past few months was carrying a box and looking none too pleased with him.  
  
"Michael," she tensely replied and brushed past him. Stepping foot inside of the apartment he was surprised at how little he had. Gone was the plush La-Z-Boy recliner that Becky would curl into in the evenings, and only marks on the carpet remained from the antique wooden desk that was once by the window. Both had been in her family, both had sentimental value to her as well. Two bookcases were gone, and with them, all the medical texts that had baffled him. Sting and The Boss looked sullen without Mozart and Gospel stuck in between the slots of the CD tower. The aged crucifix that had come with her family from Italy over a century ago was gone from the wall, and his collection of photos had dwindled to a handful spread across the living area.  
  
Becky emerged from the bedroom, suited in an oversized University of Connecticut T-shirt and gray sweatpants, both which he assumed must have belonged to Brandon. The silver band and diamond he'd placed on her left hand only months before were replaced by an aged slice of gold around her finger, this time on her right hand. After a moment he realized she'd put back on the ring Brandon had given her, although on the opposite hand. He remembered that she'd shown him the ring once when she recounted a story of her late husband, and he'd noticed the inscription - In Heaven, too, You Have My Hand. The young man who'd placed it on her finger could not have known how true those words would one day ring.  
  
"We're almost done here," she smiled and set a box on the couch. "How was work?"  
  
"It was fine," he wiped under his nose and stuck his hands uncomfortably in his pockets. "Do you need to stay here-"  
  
"I'm fine," she promised. "I'm calling my attorney and priest tomorrow. I'll call the landlord too, get my name off of the deed."  
  
With a solemn _expression he nodded, "Good." It was only in his eyes that she could see his obvious pain.  
  
Becky sighed and leaned heavily against the back of the sofa. "I know you won't listen to me Michael, but I do wish you wouldn't feel guilty about this. I could be a real bitch and drag this out, but then I'd end up hating myself more than you ever could."  
  
He sighed a matching sigh and rested next to her. "I'm sorry Becky."  
  
"I'm not," she smiled and shook her head. "I'm really not. You gave me back something I lost. You gave me   
  
someone to be with. Sometimes…Sometimes all you need is a hand to hold, someone's voice to be there to listen to yours at midnight . . . Thank you for that." She gently squeezed his hand. Slowly her posture straightened and she reached into the pocket of the loose pants. "I found something when I was packing. I think it belongs to you," she explained. From her pocket emerged a nearly forgotten black velvet box.   
  
Michael's eyes widened slightly as he took it from her. "I'd forgotten about that," he whispered as he examined the box. "I wasn't ready to ask her," he sighed. "Not yet anyway. I was thinking about asking her in Santa Barbara. Actually I almost bought it before the Alliance even went down - stupid, huh?" he chuckled.  
  
"No, it's not," Becky corrected.   
  
"I just saw it one day. I wasn't looking for it. I was trying to get some damn hypo-allergenic shampoo for Donovan and ended up at the pet store in the mall. The ring was just sitting there in the jewelry case across from the pet shop. At the time I was quite pleased with myself - I waited ten days from the time I saw it until I purchased it."  
  
"You went back after the Alliance fell."  
  
"I knew it was the one." He clicked the box open slightly. From where she stood Becky couldn't even study the ring but had no doubt it was beautiful. When she'd discovered it, she knew immediately what it was - the ring he'd given her had come in an understated gray box. She hadn't known he'd ever bought a ring, but it didn't come as a particular surprise.   
  
"Keep it Michael. You never know, you might still need it one day," she smiled.   
  
Another chuckle as his body drooped even further against the sofa. "We hadn't even been together that long."  
  
"In the time you knew her, the two of you endured more than some couples who have been married decades," she explained.   
  
Linda reappeared in the doorway. "Ready to rock Sis?" she asked, picking up the box from the sofa.  
  
"Yeah, I'll be right down," Becky called as her sister tersely nodded at Michael and left. Then she turned towards him and smiled apologetically.   
  
"She never liked me much anyway."  
  
"Not really," she chuckled. A few seconds later a sober _expression fluttered across her features. "Of all the people in the world, she chose you and you chose her. Now make it work."  
  
His lips quirked into a smile, "Didn't you get that from a movie?"  
  
"Sort of," she smiled. "I paraphrased."  
  
"Do you believe it?"  
  
Just as softly as it disappeared, her smile reappeared as she looked down at her right hand. "One person. If you can make it work, no matter what hell the rest of the world puts you through, no accomplishment ever feels quite as important."  
  
"I'm sorry he's gone Becky."  
  
Tears stubbornly appeared in her eyes, causing the light to glitter off of her orbs when she met his gaze. "So am I. But every night Michael, every night I thank whatever is or isn't up there that I had him." An impatient and distinctive car honked in the parking lot. "My sister's impatient," she chuckled. "I'll call you next week, once I get things settled?"  
  
"Take care of yourself Beck," Michael whispered, pulling her into his arms. "Thank you."  
  
"You too Michael," she said as she stepped out of his arms. One foot in the hallway, another in the door, he called her name.   
  
Expectantly, she twisted her head to look at him.   
  
"I do love you."  
  
A sad smile spread across her face. "If only it was that simple, huh?" Seconds later, the door shut behind her with a click so quiet, that it resounded through the apartment for the remainder of the night.   
  
A/N: Agent Gilmore - I expected Kentucky to do better. I really like them, they're a fun team to watch. I forget how far I had them going in the brackets (I'm such a loser, it's May and I finally tossed my March Madness brackets - than again I still have a tape of a UConn game in my VCR) but it was pretty deep. Don't mind me, I just watch every college basketball game I can get my hands on - needless to say, March is a pretty busy time for me! 


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.   
  
Dedication: For Orianna & Linda.   
  
A/N: One reviewer said perhaps Becky should have been more opinionated. Perhaps, but in a lot of ways Becky is me and frankly I keep my opinions to myself, even if they hurt. I feel bad telling people they've hurt me, even when they have.   
  
Oh, Whitelighter Enchantress, if you knew how many newspaper articles I have saved from UConn, you'd really be disgusted. My Mother says my room's a fire hazard - probably is :) I keep almost everything, win or lose. I still have the cover of the CT Post from when the guys won teh national championship in '99 although it's torn in two now :(   
  
Oh, yeah. I found my bracket (apparently I just THOUGHT I'd tossed it) and I had Kentucky winning it all. Go figure. Who really thought Syracuse would win? I mean I'm happy they did, but really . . .   
  
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It was the click of the gates opening that woke Irina Derevko the next morning. Slowly she stretched to her full height, approaching the glass as her daughter appeared before her. With the eye of a mother, Irina noted that Sydney looked tired, but less weighed down by the world. A smile stretched across Irina's face as she took in her daughter. Something had obviously turned Sydney's way for once. Perhaps it was something small, but it had lifted a part of the burden she'd been carrying since she had reappeared.  
  
"Sydney."  
  
"I believe that Sloane held me in Rome for a period of time. Do you know where Sloane's operations in Rome were located?"  
  
"There's an American university in Rome, John Cabot University. While I never met him, Arvin claimed he had a contact there, a man who was married to someone Emily knew when she worked at the state department. I don't recall him ever mentioning a name, but he did say that there was a secluded villa in I Castelli Romani that he could use. He never told me anything more than that."  
  
"No locations? No names?" she demanded as Irina shook her head. "Thank you," she said as she copied down the information her mother had given her.  
  
"How are you Sydney?"  
  
After a moment she looked back up at her mother. "I've been fine."  
  
"Your father?"  
  
"Dad's fine too," she was quick to assure.   
  
Irina nodded. "Good." With her lips pressed together Irina's eyes brushed up and down her daughter's form before arriving back at her eyes. "You don't look as troubled. Finding your memories must make this a bit easier."  
  
"I've been doing my best."  
  
"Your father must be a great support to you. Surely your friends."  
  
"Yes," she hesitantly agreed. "They've been helpful."  
  
"And Agent Vaughn?"  
  
"What about Agent Vaughn?" she calculated her reply, mindful to keep her tone neutral. The last thing she wanted to give her mother was a loose string to tug at.  
  
"Certainly he must be very helpful in your recovery process, in helping you readjust to your life," Irina suggested. Sydney studied her mother and wondered if she was being purposely cruel or was sincerely unaware of the decisions Vaughn had made in her absence.  
  
"Agent Vaughn is my colleague. We're working together to find Sloane, to try to understand where I was kept and why. So yes, in that regard he's been very helpful."  
  
Across the glass her mother seemed to silently understand her explanation. For a moment she looked down at her feet, playing with her hands and then looked back at her daughter. "I'm not much of an art connoisseur Sydney, but I've always loved Van Gogh. From the moment I saw 'Starry Night' for the first moment... I just fell in love with his work. The simplicity and the details... The way he uses the colors... He was an interesting man, as I suppose all artists are. He was an artistic genius, ahead of his time. Much more fascinating than any Rambaldi puzzle," she explained. "I was considering your father, you and Agent Vaughn and Van Gogh came to mind. He's credited with saying 'love is eternal. The aspect of it may change, but the essence remains the same'. I've struggled to understand that my whole life. I believe he's right, no matter how painful it may be. It might be something you'd like to consider."  
  
"I'm really not much of an art fan," Sydney spoke solidly. Irina watched her chin slightly waver as her daughter looked away. "Thank you," came moments later, her voice softer and obviously more vulnerable. "I'm sure the CIA will be eager to evaluate any leads you can offer us."  
  
"Take care of yourself Sydney."  
  
"I will," she promised and disappeared through the gates.  
  
  
  
At the same time that she was leaving the cell area, Michael Vaughn was sinking down into his work chair with a tired sigh. Agents were just crawling in to start their day, and the area around the coffee machine was more crowded than the work area. The day ahead of him seemed unusually long as he anticipated the struggle to make it halfway through the week. The leads on Sloane were now numerous - Rome was a large city, and until the debrief later in the morning, he would be uncertain of what Intel Irina Derevko could offer them. As he booted up the computer and struggled to stay awake, he wondered if he'd even be conscious at the debrief.  
  
Truthfully, he had missed Becky that morning, missed her in ways he hadn't expected. He longed to see the oatmeal socks patter across the floor; missed how she sang in the morning, as if her off-key voice would make 6am seem a little bit easier to cope with. There was no one at the counter literally measuring out the size of their bowl of Cheerios, no one to mumble that he'd used most of the hot water, no one sitting across the table from him to read off the newspaper's five day forecast. The television hadn't been flipped on when he emerged from the shower, and the half of the bed next to his had remained made throughout the night.   
  
The night had been unexpectedly difficult as well. He'd forgotten how cold a bed could be without two humans now that it was just a human and a lazy dog. Donovan was overjoyed to have his half of the bed back, oblivious to how his master tossed and turned throughout the night. Becky would talk in her sleep - she'd sing in her sleep too. Every night before she finally fell asleep, he'd hear a tiny crack as she stretched the joints in her ankles, followed by a contented sigh as she cuddled up next to the pillow. He missed the sound of her steady breathing on the pillow next to his. He'd even awoken at exactly 2:08 in the morning, expecting to feel the bed dip, as she'd roll out to quickly use the bathroom. Always two - oh - eight in the morning, from the first night they'd spent together to the last. Consistent, reliable, comfortable. Becky.  
  
"You look like you're thinking too hard for eight in the morning," Eric Weiss declared as he leaned up against his friend's desk. "Coffee?" he held out another mug.  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Vaughn forced a half smile and took a sip of the coffee, assured to feel it burn down his throat.   
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
Vaughn took another sip then looked at his friend. Under his breath he answered, "Becky moved out yesterday."  
  
"That's why you're upset?" Eric struggled not to laugh. "That's the best news I've heard since Sydney came back!"   
  
"She's my wife."  
  
"That's where you're wrong my friend. It sounds to me like she's your soon-to-be ex-wife!" he joyously pointed out, only to be met by a sharp glance. "Sorry, forgot you liked her." He uncomfortably looked away. A second and a sip of coffee later, Eric looked back at Michael. "So, what's going on? Have you told Sydney yet?"  
  
"I'm not even sure she'd care."  
  
"Are you out of your mind?" Weiss laughed and struggled to keep from gaining more of an audience in the ops center.   
  
"For all I know she could be interested in Will. They have been spending a lot of time together."  
  
Another laugh and a slap on the back, "I think it's well established that Sydney does not like Will in that way."  
  
"She just left yesterday."  
  
"Your point? You went right from Alice to Sydney and you clung to Becky when you met her. Face it, you just don't like to be alone. Don't get me wrong, I don't blame you, I don't either, but you *really* hate it."   
  
"I'm perfectly capable of being on my own."  
  
"Then prove it," he suggested. "Or you know what, better yet, take off the damn wedding band, find Sydney and kiss her senseless. I swear Vaughn, I love you like a brother and I think Sydney's great, but the two of you really are going to drive me insane," he concluded, giving his pal another gentle slap on the back and returning to his own work area.  
  
Vaughn contemplated his friend's words for a moment and studied the gold band on his left hand. Leaving it untouched, he sighed and went back to his own seemingly endless pile of work. Halfway through a stack of Will's analysis reports, he caught Sydney walking in out of the corner of his eye. She paused to share a short but animated conversation with Weiss before she slid into her own desk, either not seeing or ignoring him.  
  
  
  
They were unable to exchange anything other than a soft 'hey' later as he held the door of the conference room open for her. Jack and Kendall were already discussing the briefing as Sydney slid into her chair and the rest of the group took theirs. When the doors shut, Jack slid the wheelchair closer to the table as Kendall began the debrief.   
  
"Thanks to Irina Derevko we now have a better idea of where exactly in Rome Arvin Sloane was keeping Sydney. Apparently through his wife Emily, he had contacts at John Cabot University. There was also a villa in I Castelli Romani that he had at his disposal."  
  
"So what do we do now?" Dixon asked.  
  
Jack looked at the small group. "Now we search through the faculty to try to pinpoint who Sloane's contact was."  
  
"That can't be that difficult. How many professors in Rome had spouses who worked at the American State Department?" Will pointed out.  
  
"Unfortunately more than we'd expected," Kendall answered. "We are looking back over the past few decades to try to find this guy. For all we know he hasn't been employed by the university for years. People, we're still searching for a needle in a haystack, just a slightly smaller pile. I'm hopeful that perhaps we can send a team to Rome as early as Friday. At the latest, next week."  
  
"Is it possible your mother's holding something back?" Dixon carefully suggested, glancing at his former partner in concern.  
  
"Why? She has nothing to gain. Everything we've been able to uncover has indicated that she's spent the last two years looking for me," Sydney pointed out.  
  
"It's not safe to assume anything with that woman," Jack stiffly reminded them.   
  
"We're taking all of her information at face value, but right now it's the best lead we've got," Kendall reasoned. "Marshall, I expect you to start manufacturing a device that will allow our teams to get past whatever security systems might be found in an Italian villa."  
  
"I'm on it sir," he sputtered out all in one breath.   
  
"Maybe we'll get lucky. There is, of course, the possibility that Sloane does something before we pinpoint who his contact is."  
  
"Has something come across echelon to indicate that he's working on something?" Vaughn questioned.  
  
"Nothing. But Arvin Sloane isn't a man who leaves much of a trace," the FBI director reminded all of them. "Does anyone have anything to add?" He looked around to find no response. "I think we're done here then," he said as the group started to disband. "Agent Bristow?" he called as Sydney halted. Vaughn glanced at her for a moment before he followed Dixon out of the room.   
  
"Your visit with your mother went well?" Kendall asked once they were alone. Silently she nodded. "When we organize a team to send to Rome, it'll be your decision whether or not you care to be a part of that team."  
  
"Thank you," Sydney smiled gratefully and left the conference room.  
  
  
  
Jack was called in to consult on an unrelated case that evening, leaving her no other option than to have dinner with Will at the restaurant. Time and circumstances had kept her from approaching Vaughn that day, along with the thin band that he still wore around his finger. She'd left work early to go sign some more papers for the real estate agent. The deal was moving along at record speed, and she wondered again if her father had pulled a few strings. Any assistance Jack Bristow wanted to offer would be graciously accepted. In another few weeks she'd be out on her own, although she knew that her father would silently grieve the space that she was currently taking up.  
  
"She really asked about Vaughn?" Will's eyes were wide as they ate dinner at the restaurant. The customers were sparse, just the regulars, most of whom Will knew by name. After a chaotic day at the office, and far more Los Angeles traffic than she'd anticipated, the quiet was a welcome relief for Sydney.  
  
"She was just looking for a way in," Sydney dismissed.  
  
Across from her, her faithful friend nodded. "Are you going to go to Rome?"  
  
"Probably," she sighed. "I don't imagine my father will be pleased with my decision, but he did give me the discretion so that it was my decision."  
  
"This really is like finding a needle in a haystack Syd. Kendall wasn't kidding. The list of possible suspects is massive - we're going back as far as the late seventies. We're going to find it though."  
  
"I hate this, I feel like my entire life is on hold again because of this man. He really is the Devil."  
  
When Sydney looked over at Will, awaiting a response, his gaze was no where in her vaccinity. Curiously she traced his view of sight to the door, where an unassuming petite blonde had just entered. "Is that Stephanie?" she whispered eagerly.   
  
"No," Will shook his head, still not looking at her. "I'll be right back," he smiled quickly at her. Sydney's smile grew as she leaned back and tried to discreetly watch her friend in action. Will rubbed his hands together as he sat down next to the blonde. It had been years since he'd really used a pick up line, and from the look of disdain she'd sent him, one might not have worked too successfully anyway. "Hi, I'm Will Tippin. I own this restaurant."  
  
Instantly her skin burned as she shook his hand. "I'm Elise D'Elia. I'm sorry, have I done something wrong? This is my first time here -"  
  
"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. I guess I just wanted to introduce myself. I know most of the people here on a Tuesday night - it's a bit unusual to get a newcomer."  
  
"I just moved here," she explained.   
  
"For work?" he asked pleasantly as she nodded. "Are you an actress?"  
  
"No, I'm a writer."  
  
"Really?" his eyes widened. "I'm a writer too. I mean, I *was* a writer, a journalist. I write still, for a travel magazine."  
  
"That must be nice, you get to travel a lot," Elise commented as the waitress brought her what she'd ordered. "I'm sorry, I ordered out. I have to get back to my place."  
  
"Oh. You have a boyfriend?" He asked regretfully.  
  
"No, just a novel full of characters who finally showed me how to end the book," she laughed. Will's grin grew as they both stood. "From what everyone's told me, this is a really great place. It was nice to meet you," she explained as she shook his hand again.  
  
"Thanks. Hey, since you're new in the area, if you need a tour, just give me a call. I'm in the phone book."  
  
"Okay," she smiled. "I'm going now," she explained as his gaze followed her out the door.  
  
A moment later Will returned, glassy eyed with red cheeks, to the table. "Stephanie?"  
  
"What?" Will shook his head after a moment. "No. That's Elise D'Elia. She's a writer, new to the area."  
  
"What happened to Stephanie?"  
  
"Nothing happened to Stephanie. Elise just caught my eye. I'd never seen her before... Thought I'd introduce myself."  
  
Sydney laughed, "I haven't seen you this flustered since college! You must really like her!"  
  
"She seemed nice," he shrugged. For a moment she watched him grow distant. Images of Francie arrived on his mind, as he remembered the good times and the bad, and how nice it had been to be honest with her about his work. Thinking back on it, he struggled not to feel as though he'd been played for a fool.   
  
"If you really like her, you could look her up in the phone book."  
  
"What about Stephanie?"  
  
"Two dates Will. If things aren't going to work out, isn't it better to know now than a year from now?"  
  
"You're right," he sighed and took a swig of his beer.   
  
"Take your time Will, there's no time limit," Sydney softly reminded him. "On the bright side, her cheeks were redder than yours. I think she liked you too."  
  
"One day at a time Syd," he reminded her. "I thought we were talking about you, not me."  
  
"You're more interesting," she shrugged.  
  
"Did you avoid him today on purpose or by chance?" Will asked, slowly peeling the label off the sweating amber bottle.  
  
"Will," Sydney sighed.  
  
"I'm not trying to be nosey Syd. I'm just worried about you."  
  
"I'm okay," she promised. "For the record though, it wasn't on purpose."  
  
"Does he know that? When I saw him in the parking garage he looked like he'd lost his best friend."  
  
"Will," she leaned across the table, "Vaughn's wife just left him, I don't imagine this is a very easy time for him."  
  
"I love so many things about you Syd," he sat back and sighed. "So many things, but one of the things I love best is how you can always make something better. Even when you're the origin of the problem, you can always make me feel better. Really, it works on a lot of people. Maybe that's one of your qualities that Vaughn could really use right now."  
  
"I don't know what to do," she confessed. "What do I do?"  
  
"You're asking the wrong guy Syd. I'm not exactly an expert at relationships. I usually ask you, remember?" he smiled ruefully.  
  
"I thought I'd be angry," she sighed. "At first I was so angry. Now I just feel... sad. I'd rather be angry, it doesn't hurt as much."  
  
"I'm not sure anger gets you anywhere. You shouldn't be angry Syd, he didn't do it to hurt you."  
  
"He did hurt me though, doesn't that matter?"  
  
"Yes, but think about Vaughn. These past few years have been hell for him. You are my best friend, and he's one of my good friends. I just want you both to be happy."  
  
"I'm not even sure what I want," she sighed and took a sip of her wine.  
  
Will raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Yeah right Syd. You've always known what you wanted from the day I met you."  
  
"Things are different now."  
  
"I don't think as much has changed as you think it has," he reasoned. To her skeptical _expression he continued, "Yeah, maybe the shades have changed, but the colors are still the same. For what it's worth, you've been with him every day for the past two years, whether even he realizes it," Will sighed. "You've been through so much already Syd, you can't let this break you."  
  
"I guess I just wonder when enough is enough," she sighed and sipped her wine.  
  
"I don't," he answered quickly. Sydney looked up at him as he clarified, "I know you Syd, you're going to keep getting up, dusting yourself off and working until you reach your goal."  
  
"At what cost?"  
  
"He might be the Devil Syd, but no one lives forever, not even Sloane."  
  
"That's what I'm hoping," she muttered. "I should have just quit the CIA when I graduated. This wouldn't even be an issue."  
  
"You couldn't have done it then and you won't do it now. You won't quit until you've got him."  
  
"Before, he was always five steps ahead of me; now he's got two years."  
  
"You're getting depressed Syd."  
  
"Just for the night," she sighed. "I'll be fine by the morning."  
  
Will sighed and stretched to his feet. "C'mon, let's go, you need to go home. Take a bath, read a book, sleep. Something to take your mind off of everything." He gestured for her to stand.  
  
"A bath sounds nice," she sighed as his arm rested around her shoulder in a friendly gesture.   
  
"It's going to be okay," he murmured against her head.  
  
"Yeah," she rested her weight against his as he led her to the car. "I know."  
  
Jack allowed his daughter some peace and quiet when she returned home that evening. The tea was warm and sweet, waiting for her in her bedroom when she emerged from her prolonged soak. When she returned the mug to the kitchen, all of the house lights were out, and judging by the lack of light from under her father's bedroom door, he was sound asleep. She padded barefoot through the quiet house before she slid into her bed and fell fast asleep.  
  
The sun peaked through her curtains waking her Wednesday morning. Quickly getting out of bed she dressed, determined to make it through the day. After all she'd endured, it was no longer about making it through the week or the month or until they got their next decent lead on Sloane. Instead, she was content just to make it through one day at a time. The tiny victories were seemingly all she had left. With a forceful push, the depressing thoughts temporarily left her as she joined her father for a quick breakfast.  
  
The night before her sleep had been anything but peaceful. While the dreams that plagued her were less nightmarish memories and more bizarre concoctions of her own subconscious, they still woke her. It had been Carrie who had suggested she keep a pen and paper by her bed at night, to jot down whatever she remembered or anything that popped into her mind at the most peculiar of times. Still, nothing came to her of any use, just bizarre images and weird scenarios mixed in from images she'd seen on television and in the newspapers since her return.  
  
"You look like you need more than this," Dixon sighed as he handed her a cup of coffee. "You okay Syd?"  
  
Smiling, she pushed hair behind her ear. "Yes. I'm fine."  
  
"Sarah wanted to know if you'd be interested in coming over for Thanksgiving. Jack and Will are invited too, of course."  
  
"Aren't you going to have a full house?"  
  
"I've really missed you Syd, it would mean a lot to me if you decided to come."  
  
"I'm hoping to take that weekend and move into my condo, if everything goes through," she explained. "But I'd love to come over."  
  
"Great," he smiled. "I'll tell Sarah tonight."  
  
"She's great Dixon," Sydney complimented. "I'm sure Diane really would have liked her."  
  
After a moment the older man nodded, "I hope so."  
  
"She seems great with the kids too."  
  
"She is," he confirmed. "She's not their mom, and they know it, but she's a good stepmother. She loves them Syd, even if they don't always see it that way."  
  
"They probably wouldn't always see it that way right now anyway - it's their age, not her," Sydney smiled. Dixon nodded and looked away. "What is it?" Sydney asked.  
  
Finally he looked up at his former partner. "Sarah wanted to invite Vaughn. It's her idea, to have everybody over - Marshall and Carrie are invited but they're going to his mother's. I told Sarah I'd talk to you about it first. It would mean a lot to me if you were there Syd, and if you'd prefer I didn't invite him, I won't."  
  
Sydney smiled at his loyalty. "Thank you for asking. It's your Thanksgiving though, I don't want you to feel that you need to disclude someone because of my involvement."  
  
"Only if you're sure Syd, I don't want to make it uncomfortable for you -"  
  
"Don't worry about me," she insisted. "I'm going to be fine."  
  
"You don't always have to be strong. If you need something, don't hesitate to ask."  
  
"I'm going to need someone to help move boxes. Think you could help there?"  
  
"Sure," he agreed. Judging by his smile, he was slightly reassured that he could help her with something.   
  
"Thank you," she smiled.   
  
"Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about Syd?"  
  
"I'm fine," Sydney assured him.   
  
Dixon nodded, although obviously unsatisfied with her answer, and stood. "I'll let you get back to work." She smiled and nodded as he returned to his own work area.   
  
They all met in the conference room early that afternoon. Kendall anxiously paced the front of the room, stewing in his own thoughts when Jack Bristow wheeled himself in, the last of the group to appear. By then Sydney was meeting Dixon's and Will's confused eyes as Marshall twitched nervously in his seat, only calmed when his wife silently reached out to place her hand over his. Jack wheeled up to the front of the room, got comfortable and silently turned to Kendall to start the meeting.  
  
"We've narrowed the list down to two hundred and thirteen possible employees. We're hoping to have a match by Monday."  
  
"That's almost a week from now," Sydney spoke up.   
  
"Yes, I'm aware of how far from now that is Agent Bristow, but it's the best we can do. I don't want to waste CIA resources on a wild goose chase, not until I can fully defend my actions to my superiors. If you want things to move any quicker, perhaps you can press your mother."  
  
"She said that she told us everything she knows."  
  
"Would it really hurt to talk to her again?" Kendall pointed out. "It's not an order Agent Bristow, but if you're displeased with the way things are going, that would be my suggestion."  
  
An hour later she strode confidently through the gates. Irina sprang to her feet, a half smile on her face as she silently greeted her daughter. "Have you had any success in tracking Arvin?"  
  
"No," Sydney sighed. "Is there anything you've remembered? Anything you haven't told CIA?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't have anything else to offer you," Irina sighed. "Be careful Sydney. Even if the CIA can determine who Arvin's contact is, he's highly unlikely to talk to you. All of Arvin's contacts share his beliefs, especially about the U.S. Government. The CIA might not have much success in locating him and especially in communicating with him."  
  
"You believe he'd talk to you."  
  
"It's possible, if you can locate the contact, that he'd talk to me. Very few people are aware that I ever broke off my ties with Arvin. Obviously the CIA's objective is to locate the villa and confirm your suspicions, but if you can locate the contact, it might be beneficial to try to communicate with him."  
  
"Kendall's not likely to let you talk to anyone, not after what you did last time."  
  
"That was two years ago Sydney, and the circumstances are vastly different."  
  
"They're not that different," she sternly corrected.   
  
"I want to help you Sydney."  
  
Despite all of her that desperately wanted to believe, her voice coolly replied, "That's what you claimed before. The CIA doesn't take well to being duped."  
  
Irina's face softened as she met her daughter's eyes. "If you have to, use my presence. Certainly the CIA having me in custody could work as some bargaining chip in your favor."  
  
"I'm sure Kendall will take that into consideration," she spoke neutrally.   
  
"Thank you Sydney."  
  
Cautiously she studied the woman who was her mother, before she nodded and left the cell area.  
  
  
  
Over the next few days Sydney established a comfortable, if not predictable routine. Shower, brush hair and teeth, dress, breakfast with her father, work. After work she began to slip away to the gym, eager to sharpen her skills. Not only was she enhancing skills that would serve her well, it allowed her to vent her frustrations. By Friday, she knew it had been a week since Becky had decided to leave him. Half a dozen conversations had passed between them, all brief and professional. The thing that hung over her most of all, was the slice of gold that remained on his finger.  
  
Friday night she had dinner with the Dixons, playing Scrabble with the kids and offering her services to Sarah in the kitchen. That evening the restaurant was in the young manager's hands. Will had anxiously explained the previous evening that he was meeting Elise to see a New York Times Best-selling author make a stop at a local bookstore. When she last saw him at work Friday afternoon, Marshall was stuttering over dating advice and she had smiled at both of them before she walking away to laugh.  
  
Sydney spent the majority of the weekend at the gym, relieved to have finally found an appropriate outlet for her frustrations. She'd attacked the bag with a new vigor, and felt alive as the perspiration trickled down her skin. There was no better feeling than sliding the damp Lycra off of her skin, of knowing she'd accomplished something that day, even if it was just beating the crap out of a punching bag. She assured herself that at least it was beating the crap out of *something*, and she took pains to imagine Sloane's face as she delivered her strongest blows.  
  
"Jesus Syd, you should be more careful!" Will exclaimed as he handed her a cup of coffee Monday morning. They stood in the rotunda of the CIA as he reached for her hand. Across the knuckles of her right hand was a dull bruise, one that would only darken in the days to come.  
  
"I'm fine," she insisted as she took her hand back.  
  
"Ouch, what did you do, break a window?" Weiss approached the duo, sipping his coffee as he eyed Sydney's hand.  
  
"I spent the weekend at the gym. Something the two of you should consider," she playfully suggested.  
  
"Nah," Will shook his head. "When I started this job I just caved in to the idea of being constantly overwhelmed and fat."  
  
"You're not fat," she chuckled and rolled her eyes. Growing sober she looked at Weiss and asked, "Are you here for the debrief?"  
  
"Yeah. In his infinite wisdom, Kendall decided my presence was suddenly mandatory."  
  
"Nice to know the CIA doesn't hire just on personality, isn't it?" Will joked. The two men laughed, unaware that Sydney's laughter had died down. Across the room she caught him out of the corner of her eye as he walked towards the conference room, once again either unaware or unwilling to look in her direction. Neither was aware that the other watched them whenever they could. If he thought for half a moment he could study her undetected, he greedily took the opportunity, unaware that she did the same.   
  
"I hate to say this, but we should probably head in there," Weiss motioned towards the conference room. The two men continued their light conversation as she walked with them into the room, silently taking her seat near Vaughn as she waited for Kendall to reappear.  
  
"Good news ladies and gentleman," Kendall declared as he swaggered into the room. "We have made contact with Arvin Sloane's contact, a former John Cabot Professor by the name of Nikolai Young. His late wife, Barbara, worked at the State Department during Emily Sloane's tenure there. The Youngs and the Sloanes apparently used to vacation together."  
  
Jack, who had entered the room seconds before the other director, added, "There's only one hitch."  
  
"What?" Dixon asked.  
  
"Unfortunately we are making no leeway with Mr. Young, and apparently with the exception of knowing Arvin Sloane, he has no traceable criminal history. Obviously, we had no leverage over him. Irina Derevko however..." Kendall trailed off and looked at Jack expectantly.  
  
"You had to use my mother to make contact," Sydney filled in the blanks. "What could she possibly have on him that we don't?"  
  
"Nothing, but he knows her. Young was apparently taken with your mother when he met her, and now that his wife is gone he's eager to . . . Make progress in their relationship," Jack explained, an undercurrent of amusement obvious on his features.  
  
"We've pinpointed the location of Young's villa. He's currently staying there, so while your mother is meeting him in Rome, you'll lead a team into the villa," Kendall explained as he slid a folder in Sydney's direction. "Jack will be on point for your mother's op. Agent Dixon, Agent Vaughn, you'll be accompanying Agent Bristow and the forensics team into the villa. Agent Weiss, you'll be the point guy on this."  
  
Sydney looked down Young's dossier as the words 'point guy' ran rampant through her mind. Ever so briefly she damned her flawless memory and damned every little thing around her for reminding her of something she'd lost. Still, it temporarily caused her to smile as she looked back up to listen to the meeting.  
  
"Is there any way we can make this meeting without taking Derevko out of our custody?" Vaughn asked.  
  
"There's no way around it. We need a diversion to get into the villa, and if he can offer us more Intel, all the better," Jack explained.   
  
"We will be implanting a tracking device. Marshall, you said you could have that done within the hour?" Kendall asked as the younger man nodded. "Good. The plane leaves for Rome in two hours."  
  
Will met up with Sydney as they reached the door. "Syd, you okay?" he called softly, reaching for her arm to pause her.  
  
When she turned towards him, she had steel in her eyes. "I'm going to go see my mother."  
  
"Good luck Syd," he called as she smiled and disappeared towards the holding cell.  
  
  
  
If Irina Derevko had been surprised or had been expecting Sydney's visit, her face gave away nothing. Instead, she was the picture of calm and collected, as though she had no qualms with meeting a contact of Arvin Sloane and no emotion over her partial freedom. "Sydney."  
  
"Dad went out on the line for you, again, don't make him regret it."  
  
"I'm doing this for you Sydney. I can't expect you to believe it, but everything I've done since the day I first left you was for your good."  
  
"I fail to see how abandoning me at six, letting me think you were dead, was for my own good," she spoke strongly. "We leave for Rome in two hours," she explained and then turned and walked away.  
  
During their transatlantic flight, Jack reviewed the operation several times, insuring that each member of the team was assured of his or her duties. Later, Sydney sighed and sat down against the wall of the cargo plane, propped up against sacks of supplies, hopeful of getting a nap. On the other side of the plane she watched as her father and Dixon reviewed more Intel with Weiss. Irina sat by herself, reading over Young's dossier. Sydney looked away and down at her hands, when out of the corner of her eye she noticed Vaughn approach and sink to the ground next to her.  
  
She glanced at him and then back at her hands. This was not the time or place to bring up the numerous questions flying around her brain. There was too much on her plate, too much at stake over the next few hours, to focus too much on her own personal losses. Still, she took the moment to study him out of the corner of her eye. In her absence he had grown scruffier, now comfortable wearing a bit of growth on his face before he shaved. Absently, she noted how it made him look more weary, more tired, and more vulnerable to the world.   
  
"Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice so low it was almost impossible to hear over the noise of the plane. On the other side of his body, he placed his left hand down and she watched the dim light bounce off the gold band.  
  
"I'm fine," she insisted. "We're not going to find him there."  
  
"We have a shot at getting a decent lead Syd."  
  
"I know," Sydney agreed.   
  
"You should get some sleep," he realized as he began to pull to her feet.  
  
"Stay," she quietly requested. Half a second of deliberation quickly passed as he sank back down. Instead, he was content to sit next to her as she struggled to sleep the remainder of the flight.   
  
The CIA arranged for Irina to meet with Young at a restaurant on the outskirts of Rome on Tuesday afternoon. The team assigned to the villa sat observing it. Dixon had managed to slip onto the property undetected, placing one of Marshall's discreet tracking devices into Young's car before he rejoined the team. Shortly after, Weiss contacted Jack when Young was spotted leaving the villa. Meanwhile, Vaughn, Dixon and the forensics team followed Sydney as she approached the building. Between the three of them, the agents quickly knocked out the four guards stationed around the perimeter of the house. Thanks to another one of Marshall's masterful gadgets disguised as a bracelet, the security alarm didn't go off when they used a lock pick to slip into the house and subsequently shut off the alarm.  
  
Jack sat in the van, watching and listening as Irina sat waiting on the restaurant's patio. Through her comlink he heard her talk under her breath, contemplating the menu softly to herself, just as he recalled her doing countless times during their marriage.   
  
"We've got Young approaching the restaurant," Kendall spoke into Jack's earpiece.  
  
"Copy that," he replied. Within minutes he spotted Nikolai Young, the tall aging man with tired eyes, approaching Irina's table. She stood when he came into view, flashing him a disarming smile as he kissed her cheek.  
  
"Irina, darling, it's been so long. How are you doing?"  
  
"I'm fine Nikolai, thank you for seeing me."  
  
"Who could resist the chance to meet with Irina Derevko?"  
  
Irina smiled at the compliment as they placed their orders. Young placed his napkin on his lap, shifting in his seat. "It's a privilege to see you again. Arvin doesn't mention you much, I thought perhaps you'd retired."  
  
"Retired? What the hell is he talking about Jack?" Kendall hissed into the other man's earpiece.  
  
"I have no idea," was his crisp answer.  
  
"Retire? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Irina coyly replied.  
  
Young leaned across the table, and from the edge of the observation screen, Jack watched as he reached behind his body and under his suit jacket. "I know all about you Irina Derevko. About Arvin as well. You can't possibly believe I'm that foolish. I know all about you, your work. How you've wasted two valuable years not on Rambaldi, but on your precious daughter. Most importantly, I know about your ties to the CIA," he smirked.  
  
Irina froze as she heard a distinct click of a gun being engaged. Seconds later she felt the cool steel press against the back of her neck. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. This is just a meeting between friends -"  
  
"Cooperate with me Irina, and no one gets hurt. Fight, and not only do you die, but I detonate the explosives I have rigged throughout the block. See, some of my closest friends own shops along this street. Quite convenient of you to choose it, don't you think?"  
  
"Jack? What the hell is she doing?" Kendall barked. On the screen Jack watched his former wife stand, only to be grabbed under the neck by one of Young's employees. The patio was empty, the restaurant nearly deserted at that hour, as Young pulled out the detonator.  
  
"Damn it, she's cooperating," Jack hissed.  
  
"We've still got the tracking device in the car and in her Jack, there's a chance he might lead us right to Arvin Sloane," Kendall struggled to reason. This was not how the plan was supposed to go, this was not the diversion either man had in mind, but both were masters at playing the hand they were dealt. Unable to do anything without blowing the operation, Jack was forced to watch as both Young and Derevko disappeared off the screen. Quickly his fingers danced across one of the numerous keypads spread before him. "We've got both of them showing up on tracking Jack, how about you?"   
  
"I've got them," he sighed.  
  
"Try to get in contact with the team at the villa, we'll keep tracking them," the director commanded.  
  
Unaware of what had transpired, the other team walked through the empty villa. Dixon directed the forensic team to start searching for evidence. That left Vaughn to silently trail behind Sydney as she slowly walked through the house, studying even the tiniest details in hopes of some memory recovery. There was a tingling sensation of deja vu as she walked throughout the rooms, taking in the handsome Italian furniture and expensive decorations. Photos were in every room, offering it a personal feeling. She even came across a photo of a younger Emily Sloane with a woman she assumed to be Barbara Young.  
  
"Agents, we have a problem," the leader of the forensics team said, appearing in the massive dining room. The three agents turned around to face him.  
  
"What's wrong?" Dixon questioned.  
  
The team leader's face was drawn and unnaturally pale. "We found a bomb."  
  
"What?" Vaughn replied as the leader led them to a back storage room. "Yeah, definitely a bomb," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Bomb? Did you say bomb?" Weiss nearly screamed into the comlink.  
  
"Get Marshall on the phone - " Sydney commanded. Vaughn grabbed her arm before she could approach it.  
  
"I don't think we have enough time," Dixon cut her off as the other agent silently agreed.  
  
"Get out of there! Abort the mission! I repeat, get out of there *now*!" Weiss shouted frantically.   
  
Vaughn forcefully pushed Sydney in front of him as they ran out of the house, racing to get as far away from the explosives as possible. As the force of the bomb shook the ground underneath them, Vaughn returned to his instincts, covering Sydney's body with his own as the entire team fell to the ground.   
  
"Hello?" Weiss screamed frantically into the comlinks as the noise echoed in his ear. "Hello? Boyscout? Mountaineer? Anyone read me?!"  
  
"Yeah," Vaughn sighed as he rolled off of Sydney and looked at the remnants of the once handsome villa. "Yeah, I read you."  
  
"Is everyone okay?"  
  
Dixon surveyed the small group and answered, "Yeah, I think we're all fine."  
  
In the van Weiss sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Okay," he struggled to capture his normal breathing. "Okay. Just get back here."  
  
"Come on," Vaughn sighed as he helped Sydney to her feet. "Everyone okay?"  
  
"It was a set up," Sydney didn't reply, her eyes stuck on the fiery debris.  
  
"Syd, we don't know that," Vaughn replied.  
  
"C'mon, I don't think we should be any closer to this place than necessary," Dixon agreed, gently grabbing her arm as they climbed over the landscape to return to the vans.  
  
Exhausted, with a small collection of circumstantial evidence, the quiet group drove to the airfield. With the explosion the group was running slightly behind, but they pulled onto the airstrip minutes before the plane took off. Sydney stepped onto the plane, relieved to see her father but instantly upset by his _expression.   
  
"Where's mom?"  
  
"Are you okay Sydney?" Jack met his daughter's gaze as she sat down next to him.   
  
"We're fine. We got out. We didn't get to collect much evidence though. Young set us up."  
  
"Yes, I know," her father agreed. "Young has taken your mother. We're tracking both Young and Derevko, hopefully they'll lead us to Sloane."  
  
"So now what? We just go back home?" Sydney was obviously outraged as she heard the engines click on.  
  
"We go back to Los Angeles and re-strategize," her father corrected. "Sloane is still two steps ahead of us, he's obviously been in contact with Young. Now we need to figure out how and when."  
  
"What about mom?"  
  
"Your mother's fully capable of caring for herself Sydney. We're keeping track of her with the device we implanted in her before we left Los Angeles. Kendall believes there's a possibility that Young will take her to Sloane and offer us a lead."  
  
"You don't seem so convinced," Dixon commented on the other agent's obviously skeptical comment.  
  
"When it comes to that woman, I'm never convinced."  
  
"She wanted to help. We're still tracking her on the device. She might lead us to Sloane," Sydney strongly suggested.  
  
"Yes, it's a remote possibility," Jack skeptically agreed. "We have a long flight ahead of us. Do any of you need to use the first aid kit?"  
  
"I think we're fine," the forensic team leader spoke.   
  
"I'm going to go try to get some sleep," Sydney sighed as she returned to the side of the cargo plane, cuddled up among the sacks of various belongings, and fell into a dreamless sleep.  
  
  
  
Los Angeles time was early Wednesday morning when they landed. The cars were already dispatched to pick them up from the airstrip. Kendall and Will stood alongside a twitching Marshall as they stepped into the joint task center. "What's going on?" Jack asked at the awkward reception.  
  
"Marshall?" Kendall looked to the genius to speak.  
  
Marshall rung his hands together, "I heard about that explosion Syd, pretty loud, huh? I hope you're okay. You too, Mr. Dixon, and of course Mr. Vaughn -"  
  
"*Marshall*!" the FBI director barked. "The *point*."  
  
"We lost the signal. Someone either removed or deactivated both our tracking devices."   
  
"I thought you said it was foolproof," Jack snapped.  
  
Marshall turned red in the face, "I thought they were."  
  
Sydney sank into a desk chair and looked at the group. "They both set us up. This is another part of their sick plan," she shook her head. "Everything, the bomb and the meeting with Young . . . She was probably working with Young and Sloane from the beginning."  
  
"But now we have reason to believe you were being held in Rome, or else there'd be no reason to destroy evidence," Kendall countered.   
  
"Whether or not you like it Miss Bristow, you are your mother's weak spot, we have you and now we have leverage on her."  
  
Sydney shook her head and rested her face in her hands. "How could I believe her?"  
  
Kendall softened, "Why don't you take the day off Agent Bristow. Recuperate from jet lag. We don't need you here today."  
  
"I think that's a good idea Syd," Will agreed.  
  
"Sydney?" Jack beckoned. When she looked up she nodded and slowly stood, aware that all of their eyes were on her.  
  
"If we find something Agent Bristow, we'll contact you," Kendall promised.  
  
"I'm going," she agreed. She hugged Will and thanked Marshall and disappeared from the joint task center.  
  
  
  
Spending a beautiful day inside sulking was not an option. Instead she returned to her father's house, where she changed and then drove to the track. Using her alumni card, she was easily allowed access to the track that she had made countless runs around. The track where she'd told Will that she was engaged to Danny; a track that felt more like home than many other places. Alone, she began running, surprised at her own speed. The speed, the feel of the track, firm and steady underneath her running shoes, allowed her to begin to feel the letdown that went with the disastrous pieces that were her life.   
  
Halfway in the sky, the sun broiled down on her when she finally sat down on the grass. Soaked through her clothes, she took a sip from her water bottle as her cell phone rang. She groaned and reached for it, wondering what the hell Kendall could possible have to tell her. Less than five hours had passed since she'd left the joint task center. Not even someone as unsympathetic as Kendall could expect that to be adequate time to help her clear her mind.  
  
"Hello?" she replied, brushing the sweaty tendrils away from her face.  
  
"Sydney," a familiar feminine voice spoke.  
  
"What do you want?" she demanded through gritted teeth, suddenly relieved no one else was on the track.  
  
"I'm sorry Sydney, I never wanted to deceive you, but this is the only way -"  
  
"The only way?" Sydney spat over the words. "How's it go mom? Screw me once, shame on you, screw me twice, shame on me?"  
  
"I'm only doing this to help you."  
  
"To help me? How many times do you expect me to trust you? How many seconds chances do you want?" she snapped, blinking back her own tears.  
  
"I have contacts Sydney, people who will *never* talk to the CIA. People who can help me find Sloane, to uncover what happened to you -"  
  
"You expect me to believe that? The CIA believes that this was all another elaborate set up, that you had this planned with Young and Sloane since the beginning. There was a bomb in the villa Mom, two minutes later and I would be dead. Or was that part of your plan from the beginning?"  
  
"I am your *mother*, you will not speak to me in that tone!" Irina harshly replied.  
  
Sydney laughed bitterly, "You are not my mother. Not anymore. Maybe you never were. You are on a single quest to understand Rambaldi. To you I'm just a pawn in that. I don't want to be that anymore, not to you or to anyone," she explained. "And when you see Sloane, tell him I look forward to being the one to pull the switch when the U.S. government kills him," she finished and abruptly hung up her phone.  
  
  
  
From the moment he got into the car, he knew she had a seven hour lead on him. Seven hours from the time she left the CIA until the time he was free for the day. Jack was still working, strategizing with Kendall, Will and a handful of the CIA's best minds. He was only slightly amused that they didn't consider him part of that elite group. Perhaps he was too close to the case, but if that was true, then certainly it extended to Will and Jack as well. Still, he wasn't going to beg for more overtime, he had accumulated more than enough since Sydney's return. There were far more important things on his mind.  
  
He swung by the apartment to give Donovan cool water and fresh food as well as to change. The jeans and T-shirt were comfortable and the only things he had that were clean. His laundry was another victim of Becky's departure, most of his casual clothes tossed into the hamper waiting to be cleaned. Then it was back into the car. The list of her favorite haunts was as clear in his mind as though he'd only driven by all of them yesterday. Too early for the restaurant, and the newly fallen rain disqualified everything short of the train station. With the car parked and securely locked, he pushed through the quickly moving riders, scanning the seats. Eventually he walked through the lobby of the train station three times, just to insure that she wasn't there, in case he'd done the unimaginable and overlooked her in the crowd. Finally, just before six he left, aware that if she had been there, she was long gone.  
  
Returning to the apartment before he found her was not an option his mind or heart would allow. Instead, he drove around the city, even passing by the warehouse on the off chance she'd be there. The rain limited her choice of sanctuary, and when he called Will's cell phone he wasn't surprised to learn that the man was at the restaurant but hadn't seen her. Not caring that he was running low on gas, he drove by any place he could think of in his search for her. After a quick drive and hurried walk through some of her former UCLA haunts, he still had no idea where she could be. The car clock read just after nine as he slid into the car, one last destination in mind before he gave in and called Jack Bristow.  
  
Usually they had pee wee hockey games at the rink on Wednesday nights, but it was either over or canceled by the time he pulled into the parking lot. There were only two other cars there, one a government issued sedan and the other, a Blazer he knew belonged to the rink owner. If the sound of the door opening and slamming shut bothered her, she didn't indicate it as she skated gracefully along the ice, using her hockey stick to absently play with the buck. Vaughn sighed in relief to have finally found her. Silently he leaned against the edge of the rink, watching her move easily.   
  
"She called me," Sydney explained, not bothering to look at him. "She called me, saying that this was for me, that she has contacts that will never talk to the CIA . . . Still, it doesn't really matter, does it? She still lied to me, betrayed my trust. Who knows what her motives are," she sighed. Then softer she added, "We'll probably never know."  
  
"Syd," his voice slid effortlessly over the nickname. "I was looking for you," he confessed as she continued to skate. With nothing else left to ask, he returned to the default question. "How are you feeling?"  
  
The question jarred her as she stopped moving. Even though a few meters distanced them, she glared at him from her stance on the ice. "I don't know how to feel Vaughn, okay?" she snapped. "I don't know how to do this. This isn't something they ever taught me in college or even training for SD-6. What the hell do you expect me to do? I wake up to find I've lost two years, one of my best friends is dead, the other is *still* struggling with emotional baggage, my father was put in a wheelchair by some sociopath hell-bent on destroying my life, and my boyfriend is married to another woman! What, exactly, do you suggest I do? My mother turns herself in again, I foolishly allow myself to trust her because she *claims* to want to help, but then she conveniently arranges to disappear again. I let her screw me over, again, but she's just icing on the cake at this point because right now I feel like the entire world has screwed me over."  
  
Fueled by the anger directed at him, he stepped onto the ice, easily gaining his balance as he gave her a strong look of his own. "What would you have me do Syd? I thought you were dead. For half a second, try to imagine what that did to me! Jesus! Do you think I got married to spite you? I was doing my damnedest to move on. This hasn't been easy for me, this hasn't been easy for any of us. No one's disputing that you are in hell right now, but don't make me the bad guy. I want to help you, I'm *going* to help you, so stop pushing me away."  
  
Her voice was controlled, but the anger was obvious as her fingers shook when she replied, "You got over me Vaughn. Less than two years without a body and you got over me. How is that supposed to make me feel? Everything else . . . The changes I can deal with. Losing Francie hurts but I can deal with it. And I am the one who allowed my mother to hurt me again -"  
  
"You didn't."  
  
"I did," she corrected, her voice growing steadily less harsh. "I can cope with my father and the CIA and Will, hell even Sloane . . . This . . ." she motioned with her free hand to the seemingly endless space between them. "You were the one change I never would have imagined, and you're the one change I don't know how to adjust to."  
  
"Becky's gone."  
  
"Maybe physically, but we both know it's not that simple. She's still there. You still married her . . ." her head shook as her eyes dropped to the ice. "I'm a spy, I should know better than to have expectations, to make further plans..."  
  
"You still did," he softly voiced. Hesitantly she looked up at him and nodded.  
  
"I was so stupid," she sniffled and shook her head. "So stupid. I *knew* better. What was I thinking? Nothing ever goes that well, especially not for me -"  
  
"Syd," he sighed. There was no falter in his step as he slowly approached her, cautious of the ice beneath him. Then there was only relief on his features as she fell into his arms.  
  
"You hurt me," she spoke, the conviction obvious despite the tears.  
  
"Yeah," he closed his eyes, one hand soothing her back as the other one ran through her hair. "I know."  
  
"I don't know how to get past that Vaughn," she swallowed the rock in her throat. "My mother..."  
  
"Maybe," he struggled to speak, desperate to calm her fears despite his own doubts. "Maybe she's telling the truth. Maybe she'll use her freedom to get in touch with her contacts, to find Sloane."  
  
Sydney was silent, so in their own little world, he allowed himself to hold her. There, she could lose herself in her tears before she could continue the painful process of building herself up again. Once upon a time they had been joined together, hands and legs, eyes and lips, neither quite sure where they ended and the other began. Neither even caring. This was different, comfort and compassion, safety from the storm. That was something he would never deny her. Two years might have passed, but his feelings for her weren't controlled by a switch; they weren't something he could easily flip on and off. While it was the same problem that had caused him to nearly lose his position at the CIA on more than one occasion, it was something he never would have changed.  
  
"How did you find me?" she asked finally, pulling back to look at him.  
  
Vaughn chuckled, "It wasn't easy. This was the last place I thought of."  
  
"I can't believe you'd remember this place," she sighed and rested her face back against the fabric of his sweater.  
  
"I remember," he softly promised, his hand running over her hair as he absently pressed a kiss to the top of her head.   
  
"I should probably get back to my father's house, he'll wonder where I am," she absently remembered, her voice still muffled by the cotton of his shirt. Reluctantly she pulled out of his arms as he let go of her. "I should use the bathroom," she self-consciously wiped the tears from her eyes.  
  
"I'll wait for you."  
  
"You don't have to -"  
  
"Syd, I'll wait for you," he stopped her. Sydney smiled and nodded as she skated off of the ice towards the rest rooms.   
  
He was talking to the owner when she reemerged, her face its normal shade, and her eyes not quite as blood shot. Vaughn finished his conversation, promising to be by later in the week. They were silent as he walked her outside, holding doors for her and looking everywhere but at the temptation of her free hand. Even after he held her car door for her, smiled at her and said that he'd see her tomorrow, there was one thing that she remembered most vividly. One moment of their brief time together between the rink and the car that stuck out the brightest. A tiny little detail that she had noticed when she returned from the bathroom.  
  
His wedding ring was gone. 


	16. Chapter 16

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.   
  
Dedication: To Meg.   
  
A/N: Okay, this is too funny. I asked Meg, "Do you think if I ever had my own television show, I'd still write fanfiction for it?" She stopped for half a moment and looked at me and said, "yeah. Your sad like that." . . . the sad story of my life :)   
  
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"You know this already, but there are some days when I just want to quit my job. When I want to turn in my clearance and everything and just walk away. I thought when I got back that I wouldn't have those days, but the weird thing is, I've felt that way more often since my return," Sydney sighed. She paused to take a sip of her coffee and glanced over at her companion. Even though she'd dragged him out of bed earlier than necessary for a Thursday morning, he was still glancing at her with heavy concern, all of his attention focused on her.   
  
"There are days when I just think about how short life is... How fast it can be taken away," she paused as she remembered Danny and Francie and felt him shift uncomfortably next to her. "I know, it's not my fault, but it can be anything, can't it? Who says that someone dies young just because of this life? It could be a car crash or a fire or something so small..." she trailed off, taking another sip of her coffee. "Then I think of Arvin Sloane. Of all he took from me, and I know that it's worth giving up what I'm sacrificing to know that before I die, he'll be gone."  
  
"You can still bring him down Syd, without sacrificing your entire life," Michael Vaughn assured her. After a moment, he fully turned his body to face her; the observatory's bench still slightly damp from the rain the night before. "Sacrificing what you want from life, isn't that letting him win?" He watched her jaw harden as she shook her head.   
  
"Just thinking about him... I *hate* how the mere thought of him makes me feel. I'm so angry," she spoke in a low voice. "It's so hard not to let it just eat me alive..."  
  
"You can't let it do that Syd. I'm here, and I refuse to let it eat you alive. You're stronger than Sloane can ever imagine being."  
  
"Where does it end? Does it ever end? Am I going to be stuck in this continuous cycle of lies and betrayals for the rest of my life?" she vented and looked over at him.  
  
The pain etched on his face and the anguish that twisted deep in his eyes was just as much for him as it was for her. There was nothing he wouldn't trade to be able to lie to her, to promise her that the hellish merry-go-round was nearly over, to break every code and moral that he'd always believed in. But that wasn't what she needed from him, regardless of her desperation to hear it. What she needed was the one thing she'd always come to expect from him, the one thing she depended on him for, and that was the truth.  
  
"I don't know where it's going to end Syd, or how, but if I have *anything* to do with it, it *will* end one day. This can't last forever. The Alliance came down years before we ever expected it to. You're amazing," he breathed as he looked out at the Los Angeles sky. "The work you did, the speed you worked at, the proficiency at which you managed to take down SD-6..."  
  
Sydney took a deep breath and a sip of her coffee, letting it warm her veins. Eventually she replied, "I didn't do it alone."  
  
"You could have done it the way you did if you'd had a monkey as a handler," he insisted. Then her eyebrow rose as she watched his lips quirk mischievously. "Hell, you would have done if *Lambert* had been your handler."  
  
Unable to help herself, she laughed openly. A second later, she turned serious and answered, "I wouldn't have done it with Lambert. My CIA contact was either going to be you or nobody Vaughn."  
  
Conscious of her gaze, he shook his head. "You didn't mean that Syd. You were upset, and rightly so - Lambert treated you horribly -"  
  
"I did mean it," she insisted. Sydney dropped her gaze to her coffee cup. "Will's acting weird."  
  
Vaughn laughed. "See, I've been under the impression that Will always acts a bit weird."  
  
"No," she chuckled. "Even for him. I think it's the new girl."  
  
"Stephanie?" his eyebrow rose.  
  
"No," she paused to take a sip of her coffee. "Elise. He met her at the restaurant. He just went right up and introduced himself. He was so flustered," she recalled in amusement.   
  
"What about Stephanie?"  
  
"You'd have to ask him."  
  
"I'm glad he's getting out there again," Vaughn commented. He bit his tongue to stop from saying anything more. Will had taken a long time before he'd even looked at another woman. If only he'd been a bit more patient himself, perhaps he could have been sitting there with Sydney as something other than her friend.  
  
"She seems nice. Elise, I mean. I didn't talk to her or anything, but I saw her in the restaurant. She's not who I pictured Will with, but she seems nice. She's a writer too."  
  
"Good." He looked away commenting, "I'm happy for him."  
  
"Me too," she agreed softly. "He deserves to have that. He doesn't say it, but I know he's lonely. For so long he always had Francie and I around, then he was living with us and ended up with Francie, then..." she trailed off. Both of them knew how the story turned out.   
  
"I don't want to go into work today," she groaned softly looking at her watch.  
  
"I should go get ready for work too," he realized. Neither one was dressed appropriately for the work place as the sun slowly continued to creep out from behind the clouds. "Do you need a ride?"  
  
"I've got the car," she reminded him as they stood. "I'll see you there?"  
  
"Right." He smiled and watched her until she was in her car and out of sight.  
  
  
  
  
  
The workday began all too quickly. Sydney walked confidently through the Joint Task Force Center. Jack had gone in ahead of her, and nodded politely in her direction when she saw him. Nonchalantly, she attempted to look around, searching for Vaughn, and smiled when she saw Weiss and Marshall deep in conversation. They were the unlikeliest of friends, but they seemed to amuse one another to no end. Continuing to look for her former handler, she smiled at Will before Kendall strode over to her, accompanied by an unfamiliar figure.  
  
"Agent Bristow," he spoke. Turning around, she gave him her full attention as she looked at the man who accompanied him. Although he was familiar, she couldn't quite place where she knew him from, and it unnerved her slightly.   
  
"Agent Bristow, this is Christopher Robinson. He's one of our best experts in counterintelligence and analytical work. During your disappearance he provided us with some of our better reports and profiles. He just arrived in from Langley. Agent Robinson, this is Sydney Bristow."  
  
"Yes, I know," his blue eyes twinkled. Unwittingly, she smiled and shook his hand.  
  
"You two know one another?" Kendall inquired.  
  
"Yes," Sydney replied looking over at her boss.  
  
"We grew up together. Well, sort of. Sydney and I were in the same school until we started high school."  
  
"Well then I guess I don't need to give you any more of her background, do I?" the director shot back. "Agent Robinson is on loan to us for awhile, to hopefully help us track down Irina Derevko, Arvin Sloane and Mr. Sark. I suppose that you two will be fine on your own?"  
  
"Of course," she replied, straightening her back as she felt Chris' gaze still on her.  
  
"I'll see you both in debrief," Kendall said and disappeared to his own work.  
  
"Well this is a surprise," Chris smiled. Although she felt her cheeks burn, she hoped he was oblivious to her reaction as she nodded.  
  
"I thought you were going to be a dentist."  
  
"I thought you wanted to be a literature professor."   
  
"Things didn't exactly go as planned," she explained.   
  
"When they had me doing reports, research, profiles... I had no idea that the Sydney Bristow on paper was the same Sydney Bristow... I suppose I should have thought of that sooner, huh?"  
  
"It's fine," she insisted. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Vaughn stepping into the center and silently damned his timing.   
  
"How are you feeling? I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you. Finding out about your mother, getting drawn into the Alliance..."  
  
"That was a long time ago," she explained. "I'm fine now. I'm adjusting well."  
  
"Good," he nodded.  
  
"Hey Syd," Vaughn greeted as he stepped up to her side. Instinctively, she watched Chris step back just slightly at the appearance of her former handler.  
  
"Vaughn," she greeted. "Agent Vaughn, this is Agent Christopher Robinson. He's in from Langley for awhile to help us try to get a decent lead."  
  
"It's the least I could do for Sydney. If I had known it was you, I would have requested a transfer out here to work on your disappearance full time."  
  
"Oh," Vaughn struggled to contain his interest. "You two know each other?"  
  
"We grew up together. We went the same school, same class, from kindergarten until high school," Chris explained.   
  
"That's nice." He forced a smile as he watched Chris easily meet Sydney's eyes.  
  
Slightly shaking her head, she smiled brightly at the two men. "Agent Vaughn was my handler when I was working to take down the Alliance. We were partners before my disappearance."  
  
"I've read your file Sydney, what you managed to do was incredible. Really, it's an honor to be able to work with you."  
  
"Thank you," Sydney smiled as Vaughn cleared his throat.  
  
"I should probably get to work," Chris realized. Imperceptibly, the other man nodded as he looked down at his feet to avoid rolling his eyes. "It was great to see you Sydney, and it was a pleasure to meet you Agent Vaughn."  
  
Skeptically, he looked at the other man's extended hand but shook it anyway. To his chagrin, Vaughn noted the absence of a wedding ring or even a tan line from where he might have worn one. Worse yet, he suspected Sydney had noticed the same thing. "Nice to meet you," he replied, hoping it was at least a semi-convincing lie.  
  
Chris smiled again at Sydney before he disappeared to a desk. Thankfully, it was out of sight, and her former handler was relieved to see it was far away from Sydney's line of sight specifically.   
  
"So, you knew him?" he casually inquired.  
  
"It was a long time ago." She smiled wistfully, her head shaking as she still refused to meet his eyes. While he was unconvinced, he smiled and softly promised to see her at the debrief before he begrudgingly returned to his own desk.  
  
Leads were nearly nonexistent on any of the three fugitives in question. During the debrief Kendall explained that they had sent a forensics team to search through the rubble for some sort of possible lead or better yet, proof that she had been in Rome. While they were all convinced that she'd been held in the villa, forensic evidence was always a good thing to go on file with. Marshall had invented a few creative new devices for the forensic team, and that afternoon in his office, was eager to tell Sydney all about it. He then showed her the recent ultrasound pictures of the baby he and Carrie were expecting, pointing out the tiny hands and fingers and how their baby was already sucking her thumb.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sydney sat at the bar at the restaurant, feeling slightly out of place as she nursed her wine and waited for Will to arrive. His latest report on a small weapons circuit was being presented to the Director and he had left her a voicemail telling her he'd be slightly late for dinner. Temporarily, she'd contemplated calling her father or even Vaughn to ask if they wanted to have dinner, but ultimately decided against it. Jack was providing strategic counseling to various other cases at the moment, and she had seen his car still in the parking lot when she'd left. After having a unique breakfast with her former handler that morning, she was afraid to take too much for granted. His wife hadn't been gone for long at all, he was still mourning her loss. The last thing she wanted to do was take advantage of him.  
  
"Hey, ready to eat?" Will smiled as he sank onto the stool next to her, turning off his cell phone.  
  
"Am I interrupting a phone call?" she teased.  
  
"No," his eyes sparkled. "I was just talking to Elise."  
  
"Really?" She smiled as he blushed. "How is she?"  
  
"Working. Well, writing. You should hear her talk about her work Syd, it's incredible. I'm sure she must be talented."  
  
"Has she published anything?"  
  
"A few books. Her most recent book cracked the New York Times Bestseller's list. She said she writes under an assumed name, but she won't tell me what. I guess she's nervous I won't like her work or something," he shrugged.  
  
"Give her time," Sydney advised. They moved to a nearby booth and placed their orders with the waitress. Getting comfortable, Will restarted the conversation.  
  
"So, who's this Chris Robinson guy?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"C'mon Syd. I'm not blind. He spent most of the debrief watching you, I don't think he heard a word Kendall said."  
  
"We knew each other." She straightened in her seat. "Remember once, you told me how someone told you their theory that we're all the people we were in sixth grade?" she recalled. Vigorously her friend nodded his head as he waited for her to continue.   
  
"Chris was sort of the boy I was... infatuated with in sixth grade. For most of elementary school actually." She sipped her wine. "We barely spoke. He was very popular; his family was pretty popular in the school. He was athletic, and tall, and... I was very intimidated," she recalled. "One time, I think it was the last dance of eighth grade, right before we graduated, I finally had enough courage to ask him to dance. I can still remember how horrible I felt when he said no."  
  
"So it was the end of a dance Syd, his feet were probably tired."  
  
"A few seconds later he danced with another girl from my class," Sydney added, as he grew silent.  
  
"You can't possibly hold a grudge that old?"  
  
"I don't hold a grudge," she shook her head. "I don't. He always just made me feel very uncomfortable. Today he didn't. It's strange, I knew him for nine years and today was the first time I could stand next to him and talk to him without being intimidated. Without feeling like I was less than he was... His family was perfect Will, he was the perfect student and athlete... I was so awkward. Today I didn't feel that way."  
  
"First love?"  
  
"No," she corrected. "I don't think love, even puppy love, is supposed to make you feel inferior. It's more like he was my first and probably longest crush."  
  
"So what'd you do when he said no? Kick his ass?" Will smiled.  
  
"I was thirteen," she laughed. "No. I asked one of my friends to dance. His name was Mitch and he was a lot like you Will. Very sweet, very understanding, and he was one of my best friends in junior high. Then I went home and sat on the edge of my nanny's bed crying for a few hours."  
  
"He said no to you Syd, he's obviously a jerk."  
  
"Over twenty years ago," Sydney reminded him. "It's not important. I was so awkward back then anyway."  
  
"Maybe it's your second chance."  
  
"You have a very active imagination," she teased.  
  
"Weirder things have happened. How many times in your life do you get a chance with the guy who shot you down at thirteen?"  
  
"I don't think I'm interested." She took a bite of her wine and shook her head as she continued, "Anyway, what type of person turns down an awkward thirteen year old girl? Would it really have made that much of a difference in his life if he had once dance with me?"  
  
"You said it yourself Syd, it was twenty years ago."   
  
"It was nice to see a familiar face, to see where he was in life. All I want from him now is help in finding my mother."  
  
"Okay," Will nodded. "Just... Just don't lock yourself away forever. I'll always be here, no questions asked, but if you want something more in life, I don't know anyone who deserves to find it more."  
  
"The only thing I know for certain right now is I want to find my mother and Sloane. Everything else is second," she replied.  
  
Silently her friend nodded and returned to his food.  
  
Friday didn't arrive soon enough, and Sydney was relieved that it was the last day of the week. In her line of business there was no guarantee of even the weekends off, but at the conclusion of that particular week, she knew she'd be willing to take her chances. Will was already eagerly filling her in on every detail of his plans for his first official date with Elise on Saturday night, and she knew that left a gaping hole in her social calendar. She was relieved to get back to the house. Jack waited for her in the dining room as they ate dinner before retiring to their own rooms. Sydney took the opportunity to enjoy a long soak in the bathtub, locking out all the thoughts that were flying through her mind, as she relaxed for the evening.  
  
The following morning she went jogging with Will, listening to his plans for the upcoming evening with Elise. His eyes sparkled and the excitement was obvious before they joined Marshall and Carrie for breakfast. Carrie was growing progressively bigger as the weeks went by, her February due date approaching quickly. As much joy as she felt for them, Sydney couldn't help but watch with well-hidden envy. That's what she wanted, that's what she had assumed she'd have one day, and now her future seemed to be an infinite question mark.  
  
Will managed to insure that she had plans Saturday night by asking her to oversee the restaurant. Jack had already told her he'd be busy that evening, working on reports and possibly even going into work to talk to Kendall. With no other apparent options, she agreed. Running the restaurant could be a fun experience, and she always got a kick out of seeing how much she could accumulate in tips. Plus, in the back of her mind, she saw the continual running of Francie's restaurant as a living tribute to the best friend she'd lost and still missed.  
  
For a Saturday it was a relatively quiet evening in the restaurant. By the middle of the evening she was sitting comfortably at the bar, nursing her wine and contemplating her dinner. Guests were coming in and out, and people were enjoying themselves and the atmosphere just as she remembered years before. Perhaps Francie was gone, but her goal, her dream, was still alive and well. Sydney was certain that was the least they could have done for her.  
  
"Can I buy you a drink?" a familiar voice requested. Looking over her shoulder, she struggled to keep down the disappointment when the eyes that met hers were the clearest shade of blue.  
  
"Chris. Hi." She smiled as he took a seat on the stool next to her. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Your friend Will told me about it, I thought I'd check it out," he explained. Sydney nodded as he added, "So how about that drink?"  
  
"I'm fine," she picked up her wineglass as he nodded.  
  
"It was good to see you again Sydney. I have to admit that it took me a moment before I recognized you."  
  
"It's been almost twenty years," she reminded him good-naturedly.  
  
"You look good."  
  
"Thank you," she smiled. "You look very nice too."  
  
"So, what happened to being a literature professor?"  
  
Arvin Sloane, she thought bitterly. But she wasn't in the mood for such an in-depth conversation. "A lot of things. When I found out the truth about my mother. I did it, I went to graduate school, got my degree, but I'm not sure I'll ever want to teach now. What about dentistry?"  
  
"I decided that wasn't such a good idea when I began to fail health class in high school," Chris admitted.  
  
"Your parents must not have liked that."  
  
"The first class I had anything under a B+ in after ten years of school. Disappointed would be an understatement."  
  
"Still, you obviously discovered what you wanted to do. Your parents must be proud now."  
  
"They're touch and go," he shrugged. "I suppose they always were though."  
  
"You can only live for yourself," Sydney advised. If only it was advice she took more often, she added internally. "You like what you're doing now though, right?"  
  
"I love it. There are days when I hate it though, days when I envy what you get to do."  
  
She held back a bitter laugh and asked, "Why?"  
  
Chris looked at her, taking another sip of his drink before he answered. "I spend my days analyzing and strategizing, it's not actually going out there and *doing* something. You... You get to go out there and get the bastards."   
  
Sydney smiled at how easily he summarized what she did, how simple he managed to make it sound. "There are times when the rewards are worth all of the battles." She paused as images of the destruction of SD-6 flashed briefly through her subconscious, and the all too fleeting benefits that she had enjoyed. "Still, what I do wouldn't get done if people like you and Will didn't do your jobs as well as you do."  
  
"Realistically, I could never do what you did, but there are times I envy what you're able to get out there and do... I can only imagine the adrenaline rush you must get," he noted. Politely she smiled and nodded, slowly sipping her wine. "Enough work talk," Chris decided as she smiled gratefully. "Where are you staying?"  
  
"With my father at the moment. I'm hoping to move into my own place next week. How long are you out here?"  
  
"Until we capture Derevko, Sark and Sloane, or until Langley needs me back. My mother's hoping that it'll be a permanent relocation though."  
  
"How are they?"  
  
"My father passed away a few months ago." He looked away and added, "My mother's doing fine though. Strong as an ox, always was though."  
  
"I'm so sorry to hear about your father," she sincerely conveyed.  
  
"Thanks," he smiled. Cautiously he continued, "It must have been difficult for you, adjusting to your father's... disability."  
  
"He's no less the man I remember. I think he might be even more intimidating," she chuckled and shook her head. "For my father, it's just another bit of ammunition to fuel his desire to find Sloane. He's no less of the person he was, he's still an incredible agent."   
  
"A brilliant strategist as well. You should hear some of the guys at Langley talk about him. When they're not quivering with fear, they're salivating with envy," Chris joked. Sydney laughed and shook her head slightly, imagining the impression her father's reputation could have on those at the CIA. "You probably don't realize it, but you're no less of a legend."  
  
It took her a moment to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "No," she laughed softly.  
  
"Really!" He gently nudged her shoulder with his. "I know it's not what you saw yourself doing, but you are an incredible agent. Your file reads like a who's who of the CIA's most wanted. I think what's most amazing is that you've managed to avoid a serious injury... Until recently," he hastily added.  
  
"One thing I've learned in this business is that it doesn't hurt you physically, but it forces you to watch those around you suffer," she explained. Softer she added, "That's far worse than any physical injury."  
  
Chris laughed uncomfortably. "Just a few seconds ago I said no work talk, and here we are talking about work."  
  
"It's a hard subject to avoid," she laughed softly.   
  
"Do you like it? Even now, being back, do you still like it?"  
  
"I know I'm doing the right thing," Sydney explained. "I know I'm making the world a safer place... I think I'll like everything a lot more once we get Arvin Sloane."  
  
The man next to her nodded, silently trying to understand. "Are you going to leave? Once you find them, do you plan on leaving the CIA?"  
  
"Once upon a time I did." She smiled, her head shaking. "I actually thought I could leave this behind. Now... I'm not sure I could. All this did was prove that any life I ever tried to have outside of the Alliance and the CIA was an illusion. It never existed. Everything in my life goes back to the CIA now. It probably always did." She paused to sip her wine. "What else is there for me?"  
  
"You can't be a spy forever," he whispered.   
  
Closing her eyes, she remembered Danny saying those very same words to her. At the time, it seemed he'd had a point. Nearly five years later, she wasn't so sure.   
  
"Sorry."  
  
"I'd like to leave the CIA one day, or at least leave the field. It can't be before Sloane's behind bars though. I'd like to leave though, to get married, to have children..."  
  
"The American Dream?" he quirked.  
  
Sydney laughed softly. "Something like that."  
  
"When we were kids, you were always talking about getting married and having babies," he remembered, smiling.  
  
"You remember that?" Her eyes widened as he shrugged. "That seems so long ago... I used to say that having kids was *the* most important thing to me. It's funny how things can change."  
  
"From what I've seen with Lynn, having kids isn't all it's chalked up to be."  
  
Again her eyes grew at the mention of his younger sister, a girl who, in her mind, would forever be eleven. "Lynn has kids?"  
  
"Three. Two boys and a girl. Just like Mom and Dad have," he chuckled. "They're a real handful, but she loves them. They live near San Diego. She's married to an engineer."  
  
"That's nice," she replied.   
  
"It is," he nodded. Hesitantly, he looked down at his watch and back again at her. "I'm sorry Syd, I hate to cut this short but I'm supposed to review one of my reports tomorrow morning with Kendall."  
  
"On a Saturday?"  
  
"What can I say, the man doesn't believe in weekends," he shrugged. "It was great to see you again," Chris smiled, openly gazing at her.  
  
"You too," Sydney agreed. "Hey, I'll see you on Monday!"  
  
"I look forward to it!" he waved, smiling and walking out the door.  
  
  
  
The week ahead of them was a short one thanks to Thanksgiving. Sydney planned on spending the holiday with her father, Will, Marshall and Carrie at the Dixons'. Although her former partner had mentioned that Sarah wanted to invite her former beau, she wasn't sure whether or not Vaughn would be in attendance. Deep down, she wasn't sure which possibility she dreaded more. Then the following day she would be moving into her brand new condo.   
  
Despite the upcoming holiday, the pace at the Joint Task Force Center didn't slow down. Monday evening, as she sat watching a Kings game with her father and Will, Kendall called them all in. Within an hour she had been on a plane to a small suburb in Georgia. They'd had a lead that Sark was briefly in the area, meeting up with a contact who was on vacation in Atlanta. By the time they arrived, Sark had disappeared, but in the bathroom of his hotel room he'd left behind a disk. Although Kendall explained that it could take awhile for the computer whizzes to decode the disk, it was a lead they hadn't had before.   
  
Thursday she stepped into the Dixons', carrying a pumpkin pie as her father brought the wine. A mixture of relief and disappointment rushed through her soul when she realized that Vaughn was no where in sight. Sarah prepared a delicious dinner, and the kids were well behaved. Carrie was looking uncomfortable as she helped around the kitchen, but her spirits were just as high as the rest of them. The group ate dinner early before the men went to watch a football game. Sydney helped out around the kitchen, listening to Carrie's baby plans and various stories of married life, all the while trying not to dwell on how that could have just as easily been her.  
  
The following afternoon she had lunch with her father and Will, a meal that consisted mostly of the leftovers Sarah had sent. After lunch Jack accompanied Sydney to the movies before they returned to the house. Early in the evening she showered and changed, having once again agreed to manage the restaurant for Will. With her social calendar wide open, managing the restaurant was the least she could do. The tips could be decent, and they weren't anticipating a large crowd for the day after Turkey Day.  
  
Customers dropped in and out throughout the evening, all leaving respectable tips for Sydney and the two other waitresses on duty. Most of the waitstaff were college kids who'd gone home for the holidays. What surprised her the most was that many of the customers they had were people traveling home after enjoying the day before with their families. Needless to say, no one ordered any of their turkey dishes. Still, it remained busy enough that the evening passed relatively quickly.   
  
By eleven, the customers had all but disappeared. Sydney had already sent the other two waitresses home. If anyone dared to do something foolish to the restaurant late at night, she knew she could handle them herself. Instead, she felt better sending the young women home before it got to be too late. On her own, she busied herself with wiping down the tables and loading the remainder of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. The bell over the door softly chimed as she finished wiping down the bar counter. Raising her head, she smiled as Chris sheepishly entered.  
  
"Hey. Is it too late?"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"Nah," Chris insisted as he slid onto a stool at the bar. "Will mentioned you'd be here tonight."  
  
"Did you want to talk to me about something? Did something come up with my mother or Sloane?"  
  
"No," he quickly protested. "Nothing like that."  
  
"Oh," she replied. "So, what's going on?" she smiled curiously.  
  
"I know this is short notice, but I was wondering if you were busy tomorrow night. I was hoping maybe we could, y'know, go out. Grab a bite to eat, whatever," he shrugged.  
  
Sydney wondered where this offer had been nearly twenty years ago, when a shy adolescent would have flourished on the attention and assurance that she was perfectly fine the way she was. So much had changed since the lanky blonde boy had turned down the shy doe-eyed girl's offer to dance. Perhaps too much had changed. Except his eyes, she internally noted, his blue eyes were just as clear as she remembered them being. Standing in front of him, however, she hardly felt inferior.  
  
"Chris..." She forced a smile and folded the rag in her hands. "It's really nice of you to ask," she started cautiously. "It's only been two months since I've been back... Barely," she sighed. "I'm just starting to get used to things the way they are, to accept that the life I'm used to isn't how things are today... The most difficult change for me hasn't been my father, no matter how difficult that's been to adjust to," Sydney explained. "Before I disappeared, I was seeing someone very seriously... I loved him." She looked down and smiled to herself.   
  
Finally, she looked back at him and added, "I still do. Maybe one day I'll be able to get past it, to see other people or to stop loving him... But right now I can't." She shrugged. "Right now I'm not even sure I want to. If you had asked me when we were kids, I would have jumped at the chance," she laughed. "Not now though. I'm sorry Chris. You're a great guy, but I just can't get past what I left behind..."  
  
Chris nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. "Agent Vaughn's a very lucky man Sydney."  
  
At his casual comment her head whipped up. Although she knew there'd been an investigation, she hadn't believed their relationship was such common knowledge in the CIA. Especially for someone who'd been based in D.C. at the time. "How did you -"  
  
"Your relationship with Agent Vaughn is probably the CIA's worst kept secret," he chuckled. Soberly he continued, "Even if it wasn't, I could tell the moment I saw the two of you together. I don't know what's keeping the two of you apart, and frankly it's none of my business. Still, I hope for your sake you can work it out. You were always sweet Sydney, and you've certainly endured enough in the past few years."  
  
"Thank you," she smiled gratefully. "Thanks for all the work you've done too Chris. I appreciate anything that gets me closer to finding my mother and Sloane."   
  
"Hey, just doing my job," Chris modestly reminded her. "I think I'm going to go, let you close up." He slowly stood. "I'll see you Monday, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," she agreed. "Chris, I'm sorry -"  
  
"No, Sydney, I would have been more surprised if you'd accepted," he chuckled. "Have a nice weekend." He smiled and waved quickly before he walked out the door. 


	17. Chapter 17

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.   
  
Dedication: To everyone who's reviewed - your all wonderful.   
  
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The rain that had pitter-pattered her to sleep the previous night was all but gone by the time she rose Saturday morning. That was the day of her highly anticipated move, as Dixon and Will arrived early to assist her. Despite her condition, even Carrie arrived with Marshall, determined to help with what she could. Although she was hardly Francie, Sydney was still glad that she had been able to strike up a friendship with the quirky woman who had stolen Marshall's heart.  
  
Moving Sydney's belongings out of her father's house and taking what remained in storage to her new condo took up most of the day. Furniture she hadn't seen in two years was finally removed from storage and set around her apartment per her instructions. Carrie helped her wipe away the dust from photos and helped her unpack some of her more used clothing. By the evening she ordered pizzas; her friends sat around her partially composed living room, eating dinner before she sent everyone home for the night. Her bed was made, and while the majority of her boxes needed to be unpacked, she could do that for herself. Thanking all of them for their help, she locked the door behind them and went to take her first shower in her new home.  
  
Early the next morning she went for a jog through the grounds of her new complex, taking the opportunity to introduce herself to some of her new neighbors. To her relief, everyone she ran into was friendly and they all seemed relatively harmless. By the time she returned to her house, she knew five of her neighbors by name and even had a standing invitation for coffee with one of them. Unlocking her door, she stepped inside her warm condo and headed towards the bathroom.  
  
A few hours later she sat in the living room. Boxes surrounded her as she went through them, trying to decipher what she wanted and where she wanted to put it. Carefully, she unwrapped a photo of Danny, studying the aged image before her. As much as it pained her to say it, the joy on her face in that picture couldn't even begin to compare to the look on her face when she stood outside the Staples Center, cold and impatient, with Vaughn by her side. Still, it was a memory she didn't want to lose, a person she could never completely forget, and she looked around the nearly empty room for a place to set it.  
  
As she stood, the doorbell rang. Cautiously she set the picture frame back on the table. Then she approached the door, silently hoping it wasn't a well-intentioned neighbor wanting to greet her with something horrendous, like a green Jell-O mold. Slowly she opened the door, seconds later smiling her surprise as her guest came into view.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Irresistible was the word that came to mind. In his dark blue jeans, matching dark T-shirt and brown suede jacket, any woman would have been insane to not look at him at *least* twice.   
  
"Hi," she grinned, pushing hair behind her ear.   
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
"Yeah," she smiled and moved out of the way, softly apologizing for her rudeness.  
  
"So, this is your new place..." He surveyed it as she stood close to him. Mindful of their non-status, she resisted the urge to step closer, to allow her arm to brush up against his.  
  
"This is my new place."  
  
"I like it." He looked back at her, his smile nearly as wide as hers.  
  
"Thanks," she replied. As their eyes met, she wondered if it would be too presumptuous to give him a drawer. Her subconscious suggestion only forced her smile to grow.  
  
"What?" he chuckled.  
  
"Nothing," she insisted. "Do you want something to drink? I was about to make lunch -" she started towards the kitchen. Gently he stopped her, grabbing her wrist before she turned towards him.  
  
"Do you want to go out and get something?" he asked, reluctantly letting go of her wrist.  
  
"What?" She smiled as one blossomed across his face.  
  
"Are you hungry? If you're not, we don't have to -"  
  
"I'm hungry," she stopped him. "Let me just get my coat."  
  
"That's a good idea," he complimented as she briefly disappeared. "Ready?" he questioned as she reappeared.  
  
"Ready," she agreed.   
  
  
  
  
  
Lunch was nothing fancy. They ate at a restaurant near what had once been Francie's. The pizza was the best in the area, his favorite, and she had to bite back the irony. After all of that time, they were finally sharing something that resembled Joey's Pizza. Nothing monumental was exchanged between them. Conversation was light, discussing pizza toppings, the Kings' chances during the upcoming season, and seemingly endless debate over whether or not she'd buy a new sofa. Still, she enjoyed it, enjoyed being light with him again, and was slightly sad to see the meal end.  
  
"Thanks," she smiled, her arms crossed as they stepped onto the sidewalk outside the pizza place. Silently he shrugged and smiled, his own hands in his pockets. "I probably should go home," she realized as Vaughn's smile slowly faded.  
  
"Actually..." He looked down at his feet, brushing his finger past the underside of his nose as his other hand dipped into his back pocket for something. Without a word, he handed them to her, watching her dimples reappear with a vengeance as she read them.  
  
Sydney laughed and shook her head, "I should warn you, I'm a horrible mini-golfer."  
  
"You can't be that bad," he protested. In his mind's eye he could still clearly recall watching her mini-golf with Francie and Will, what seemed like a lifetime ago. She hadn't been *that* bad - at least she hadn't been as bad as Francie.   
  
"Okay," she laughed. "Let's do it."  
  
Surrounded by teenage couples and families with young children, they spent nearly two hours that afternoon playing. Neither was particularly good at the game, but the smile on Sydney's face made up for any embarrassment he felt. Conversation was mostly about the game, playfully jostling one another for how they were performing. The best part of the escapade for Vaughn was seeing her dimples deepen, her eyes sparkle and that she wasn't purposely avoiding the small touches that passed between them without effort. Steadily, she was letting him back in, letting down her guard again, and it made the worst game of mini-golf in his life worth it.  
  
Conveniently, the mini-golf course was not too far from the observatory. Although it was a slightly chilly day in late November, with overcast skies and rain expected by sun down, they somehow ended up sitting on a bench there. In companionable quiet, they remained next to one another, watching the occasional person pass and the clouds continue to steadily gather overhead.  
  
Sydney looked down at the Styrofoam cup of frozen yogurt in her hands. Next to her, he was seemingly consumed by his attempt to find his cherry among his frozen yogurt. Shaking her head, she smiled and took another bite. A second later, she dropped her plastic spoon against the Styrofoam, briefly looking at his profile as she considered her words. Somehow Vaughn managed to sense her discomfort, looking over at her with a lopsided grin. Finally, she returned the smile and delved into the questions that surged through her mind.  
  
"How was your Thanksgiving?" she inquired. Truthfully, what she had wanted to know was *where* he had been on Thanksgiving, but she didn't want him to think she was attacking him.  
  
"Good," he nodded, looking again at his Styrofoam cup. "I spent it with my mother," he added.  
  
"That's nice," Sydney agreed. "Just... Dixon mentioned that he'd invited you to join them. You weren't there," she explained with a shrug. "I was just curious."  
  
Slowly he curled his lips and looked quickly at her. "Did you see your father?"  
  
"He was there, actually. So was Will. It was... nice." She shrugged. "I hadn't given it much thought until Dixon invited me. I don't think I could have put everything together myself... That was usually what Francie did, although she *did* have a tendency to burn turkeys," she laughed. At her side Vaughn smiled, glad to see the memory of her departed friend now brought a smile, even though her eyes glistened with unshed tears.   
  
"Sarah is a good cook, and it was nice to be around the kids and Carrie," she explained. As much as she enjoyed her budding friendship with the increasingly round technical agent, being around Carrie was a double-edged sword. With Dixon's children, she could play with them and wasn't constantly reminded of what she'd lost. During one of her restless nights her mind had easily done the math - her baby would have been born in the previous spring, meaning their child would have been roughly one and a half by that Thanksgiving 2005.  
  
"Good," he quietly nodded.   
  
Smiling brightly, Sydney nodded and looked down at her ice cream. Vaughn gently nudged her arm with his, and to her surprise, held a spoonful of frozen yogurt out to her expectantly. By then, both were grinning as she allowed him to give her the small spoonful of chocolate before she returned the gesture. Easily they slipped back into a comfortable silence, another question racing through her mind as she played with what remained in her Styrofoam cup.  
  
"Syd?" Vaughn gently spoke her name, drawing her out of her reverie.  
  
When she lifted her head she only met his eyes briefly before she found the fuel to say what was on her mind. "You took off your wedding ring," she quietly pointed out.  
  
Ever so briefly, he struggled with discomfort before he looked away. Then he nodded and shot her another momentary glance before he spoke. "Yeah, I did," he confirmed, swiftly wiping the tip of his nose before his free hand returned to his plastic spoon. "I'm sure you already know this, but Becky left me... I suppose I should thank her. Send her a basket of mini-muffins," he smirked, catching her soft laugh out of the corner of his eye. A few seconds later he soberly continued, "I kept it on for a while after she left, after she'd taken hers off... I love her Syd, I do," Vaughn confessed. "But I'm not sure I was ever *in love* with her. We're getting divorced. Annulled," he corrected himself. "So I took it off. My heart wasn't in the marriage anymore... I'm starting to think it never was. So we ended it," he finished.  
  
In her mind, Sydney knew the polite thing to do was to tell him she was sorry that it was ending. However, that wasn't entirely the truth, and she refused to lie to him, especially to preserve something as gossamer as pleasantries. Instead, she nodded and looked down at what was left of her ice cream, allowing the silence to capture them again. So wrapped up in the thoughts surging through her mind, she was unaware of Vaughn's attention until he reached over to gently tug her nose. Finally, she laughed and looked over to find him smiling before She offered him another bite of her ice cream.  
  
Quietly, each lost in their own contemplation, they finished their ice cream. The sun was already growing low in the Los Angeles sky when he pulled up into her new condominium complex. To her surprise, he was at the passenger's door, opening it for her before she could. Smiling at him, she stood and then led him to the door. Momentarily the possibility of inviting him in popped into her mind, but Sydney quickly discarded it. The situation would be far too tempting - the last thing she wanted was to make any mistakes as they re-charted what had once been an easy path for them. Anxiously she searched for her keys while they stood on her front stoop. Behind her, Vaughn stood so close that she swore she could feel the heat radiating off his body on to hers. The result was a warmth that she hadn't felt since her return.  
  
Finally she turned, smiling at him under the dim front porch light. When Vaughn smiled back, she found herself embracing him before she could consider the ramifications. Instead, he held her close, allowing her body to mold against his as her eyes slid shut.   
  
"Thank you," Sydney whispered, her head still nestled comfortably against his shoulder.  
  
For a second his own eyes shut before he replied, his voice hoarse, "Thank you Syd."  
  
Despite his own wishful thinking, he knew there was no way they could stand there all night. Eventually, they pulled apart as he watched Sydney smile and brush a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll see you tomorrow, at work?" she clarified.  
  
"Right," he smiled, slightly tilting his head.   
  
As she jingled her keys into the lock, Sydney's finely tuned ears heard his slow retreat to the car. A handful of moments later she turned around and called his name. Abruptly his steps stopped, as Vaughn looked at her over his shoulder, unable to stop a smile to match her own beautiful grin.   
  
"Happy birthday," she wished, meeting his eyes in the descending darkness.  
  
Although it hadn't seemed possible, Sydney watched his grin blossom even further across his face. "Thanks Syd," he called back before retreating to his car.  
  
  
  
  
  
The rain that had briefly disappeared on Sunday appeared with a vengeance during Sydney's drive to work Monday morning. Stepping into the Joint Task Force Center, slightly damp, she smiled when she caught Vaughn entering from the opposite direction. Before they could approach one another, Kendall appeared, postponing any chance they had to talk.  
  
"Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn, I'm glad you're here. We were finally able to read that disk you discovered in Georgia."  
  
"What's on it?" she crossed her arms and asked.  
  
"We don't know. We're about to find out," Kendall replied, leading the two of them to a computer. Marshall sat, twitching his hands uncomfortably, next to a younger technical agent who Sydney recognized.   
  
"Well? What is it?" Vaughn demanded as both men shrugged. The younger agent double clicked on the only program that the computer could read off of the disk as they waited to see what happened.  
  
The screen went black before a seemingly harmless image popped up onto the screen. It reminded Sydney of a child's cartoon or animated greeting card, a blue sky with white puffy clouds and a field of grass. Then a pink bunny rabbit hopped onto the screen as she heard Kendall mutter, "What the hell..."  
  
Turning towards the group, the bunny smiled as a banner popped up over his head. Sydney felt her stomach drop as she saw "Nice Try" pop up onto the banner. Only seconds later, the painfully familiar voice of Mr. Sark filtered through from the computer's speakers.  
  
"Honestly I applaud your persistence," Sark's voice started. "Not only of Ms. Bristow, but the entire CIA. Still, someone as intelligent and highly regarded as Agent Bristow should know better. You couldn't possibly believe I wouldn't have left this behind on purpose," he suggested as his laughter floated out. "Sydney, you should know by now than to expect it to be this easy," he pointed out, before the voice disappeared along with the image on the screen.  
  
"I want you to start running a system analysis immediately. I want to catch *anything* they could possibly want to put into our system. There is no way in hell we're letting them get a leak," Kendall demanded as Marshall and the younger agent quickly got to work. "What the hell does Arvin Sloane think he's pulling?"  
  
"I think my father would be better equipped to answer that question," Sydney reminded the director.  
  
Kendall turned around and yelled at the nearest available agent, "Where the hell is Jack Bristow?"  
  
"I-I-I don't know s-s-sir," the young agent stuttered, nearly tripping over his feet as he answered.  
  
"Yes?" Jack wheeled up to join the group.   
  
The FBI director looked over at the other man and spoke, "We've decoded the disk that Sark left behind in Georgia," he explained. Both men then shifted their attentions to Marshall, who was anxiously twisting his hands and looking at the two directors. Finally, Kendall snapped, "Marshall, the computer program."  
  
"Oh, yes, of course, one second," he stuttered and quickly opened up the program. Jack silently watched the program play briefly across the screen before he looked up at the other director. One thing he despised about the loss of his legs was not his inability to walk; he'd never been much of an athlete anyway, but that he had to look up to face Kendall.  
  
"Have you checked the system for any leaks or viruses?" Jack inquired.   
  
Nodding his chin, Kendall answered, "I've got technical services on it."  
  
"Clearly, the strategy behind this is to temporarily throw us off of the trail. Sark also hopes to discourage Sydney from her search by flaunting the CIA's shortcomings as her own. Which," he pointedly glanced at his daughter, "they are not."  
  
"Are you implying that the CIA is not doing everything in its power to locate Irina Derevko and Arvin Sloane?" Kendall's voice rose slightly as his question progressed.  
  
"What I'm implying is that Sark wishes for Sydney to see our failure to apprehend them as her own. We've had over two years to find them; she's had less than two months. We should have found Sloane and Derevko, along with Sark, years ago," Jack snapped back.  
  
"All of our available, appropriate resources are being utilized," Kendall reminded him.  
  
"Can't we get anything else off the disk? A time frame when it was made? Some idea of what country it was made in?" Sydney suggested, glancing briefly at Vaughn then at Marshall, who wrung together his visibly shaken hands.  
  
"Some programs do leave that mark on a disk, but it's encoded," he nodded. "I could look."  
  
"Why don't you," Kendall suggested as the gadget whiz quickly went to work. "As soon as we have *anything* on where this disk was manufactured, I'm going to want both of you on a plane." He looked pointedly at Sydney and Vaughn. "Now, if no one here objects, I have to go make sure that Mr. Sark's little stunt didn't put a leak in our system." He turned and left them.  
  
"Dad -" Sydney began.  
  
"None of this is because of you Sydney," Jack stopped her.  
  
"How can you say that? This... message from Sark and Sloane was clearly directed at me."  
  
"One thing Sloane shares with your mother, one quality I would assume Sark must share, is that there's always a reason. Always a strategy. It's rarely obvious, and it's rarely what you'd expect," he reminded her. With those as his parting words, he turned around and wheeled himself out of her line of sight.  
  
"Are you okay?" Vaughn asked softly, standing near her side.  
  
"Yeah," she nodded and looked briefly at her shoes. "What if we never catch him alive? What if he outlives us all? That's what Rambaldi was searching for, isn't it? Eternal life? What if Sloane's somehow figured out how to decode Rambaldi and given himself eternal life?"  
  
"Maybe that's what he did with you," he quietly offered. "Maybe you're the one with eternal life."  
  
Quickly she shook her head, "I wouldn't want to live forever."  
  
"It's strange," he started, prompting her to meet his eyes. "When I was a kid, I used to want to live forever. To live to be a hundred and thirty five..." He smiled as she smiled back.   
  
"And now?"  
  
"What would be the point?" he shrugged. "I suppose there's always something to accomplish, always something to see, but what would be the point if everyone you loved couldn't be there with you?"   
  
"Before she... left, my mom would take me to church. She'd tell me how the souls of everyone we ever loved, anyone who ever lived, were in the church. There were times when I couldn't even go in to church, I was so scared of all the dead bodies I thought were there," she laughed as he silently chuckled. "Somehow, in my mind, I had this image that there was this big room somewhere. That there were these boxes, each with an individual soul, and that if you opened them, somehow you'd get that person back. So I never wanted to live forever, I just wanted to find that room."  
  
"Syd - "  
  
"I was a kid Vaughn, maybe at the most nine. I'm fine now," she bravely smiled. Eventually she pried her eyes away from him, studying the computer screen where they'd first seen the animation. "I know it's completely self-absorbed and impractical..." She shook her head as his eyes were drawn to her profile. "But sometimes I swear Sark's only purpose in life is to make mine miserable."  
  
"He's not going to win Syd. We had him once; we'll get him again. There's evidence to show he clearly has a flexible sense of loyalty. Sark's only interest in self preservation," he reminded her. "If we ever have the opportunity to corner him again, we'll easily apprehend him."  
  
"Do you ever wonder why he does it?" Sydney asked. "He's young Vaughn, younger than we are. I was unwillingly forced into this business and he seems to be in it knowing exactly what he's doing and who he's doing it for."  
  
"Maybe he doesn't care," Vaughn suggested. It seemed to him to be the most credible possibility. Some young men got their kicks out of sports or music; Sark got his in the world of international espionage.  
  
"Hey, what'd I miss?" Weiss asked, walking up behind the two of them.  
  
"Nothing," she shook her head.  
  
Nodding, Weiss spoke, "Yeah, I ran into Kendall on my way in. He's not a happy man," he commented. "Are you holding up okay?" he looked at Sydney.  
  
Forcing a smile, she lifted her brown eyes to look at both men. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "I should get to work," she realized as she walked away.  
  
"She's so not fine," Weiss muttered under his breath.  
  
"Tell me about it," Vaughn agreed, his eyes closely watching her as she returned to her desk.  
  
"So, what are you going to do about it?" he finally asked.  
  
Vaughn searched his best friend's face in exasperation and obvious confusion.   
  
"C'mon, be a man. She's the one who gave you a drawer, along with this massive place in her life. Becky's gone. Isn't it about time you did something? Seriously, take her back to Nice. Relive your first date. Actually get to that damn hotel room this time; just don't forget my eclairs," he suggested, concluding with a gentle pat on his friend's arm before he walked away.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sydney didn't see anyone again until the afternoon debrief. Walking in, she sat down and knew immediately what the meeting was about by simply reading the tensed _expression on Marshall's face. Moments later, when Kendall strode in with his face squeezed with wrinkles, her fears were confirmed. Turning to face the room, he began.   
  
"Ladies and gentleman, unfortunately, even with the CIA's technology, we've been unable to gather any more substantial information off of the disk collected in Georgia. However, on a positive note, we were able to prevent any leak of information that Arvin Sloane may have been orchestrating. With that in mind, we're still no better equipped to pinpoint their location than we were before we retrieved the disk."  
  
Resting her elbows on the table, she closed her hands and rested her chin on them, shaking her head in disbelief. "How is this possible? Between the two of them, my mother and Sloane must have contacts and resources on every continent, in nearly every country, and we can't get anyone to talk. There has to be someone, somewhere who's been blackmailed by these two, someone who wants them in custody as much as we do."  
  
"Yes, but unfortunately Miss Bristow, these people are not likely to talk to the proper authorities."  
  
"Then why let them know?" Vaughn spoke up. "Syd's got a point. I've posed as French Mafia before, the CIA's posed as other organizations in an attempt to gain information from an unwilling contact. If we can locate a contact, what stops us from posing as another organization to get the Intel we need?"  
  
"At the moment, the only contacts we know the location of are dead," Jack explained. "We are, however, keeping a close track on Echelon and any financial transactions," he added. Then, meeting his daughter's eyes across the conference room he spoke again, "We're going to find them."   
  
For the first time since she entered, she forced a smile and a nod. Deep in her mind, she hoped more than any other time in her life that it was a promise her father could keep.   
  
  
  
  
  
Contradicting the meteorologists, the skies hadn't opened up by the time she stepped out of headquarters early that evening. Will had sat with her during lunch, listening to her vent her frustrations regarding her mother and the general condition of her life. At the end of her tired spiel, he explained that he was going out that night with Elise. Thanks to some slight groveling to Jack Bristow, he'd managed to get the CIA's tickets to the Staples Center to see the Lakers play. At her obvious worries, he'd explained that he'd left the managerial duties to one of their more experienced waitresses and insisted on multiple occasions that there was no need for her to go work.  
  
"Hey!" Vaughn called, quickly running up to her as she approached her car.  
  
Abruptly stopping at the sound of his familiar voice, she turned around and smiled, patiently waiting as he approached. "Hey."  
  
Growing serious, he lowered his eyes to hers. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," Sydney insisted, pushing hair behind her ear.   
  
"Are you going to the restaurant?" he asked. A moment later her face flashed confusion so he added, "Will told me about his date tonight. Elise. Sounds pretty serious."  
  
"It's becoming that way," she agreed. "I'm not going to the restaurant, one of the waitresses will be managing tonight," she explained  
  
"So..." He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at her hopefully. "Where are you heading?"  
  
"I have no food in my apartment, so I should probably go pick up a few things," she explained. "Why, do you need me to pick you up a few things?" she teased.  
  
"I could go with you," he offered.  
  
Sydney laughed under her breath and smiled. "Grocery shopping."  
  
"Yeah," he grinned. "Why not?"  
  
"Do you even need to?" she laughed.  
  
"I must need something," he shrugged.   
  
Laughing and shaking her head, she put her bag in her car and faced him. Unwilling to give up the offer to see more of him, she proposed, "Do you want to meet me at the grocery store?"  
  
One thing they had never been together was conventional. Michael Vaughn had had over two years of attempting to be normal on his own, and knew better than to expect happiness from apparent normalcy. Needless to say, he was more than happy to meet Sydney on their pseudo-date at the grocery store. He'd changed into jeans and a T-shirt while Sydney had donned comfortable dark slacks and a baseball shirt. Nearly two hours later he found himself next to her side as she pushed a grocery cart through the fairly empty supermarket.  
  
"What are you doing?" he laughed as he watched her pick up an apple and start to carefully examine it. Holding it between her pointer finger and thumb, she felt for bruises, bumps and any possible irregularities.  
  
"What?" She looked up, grinning at his own wide smile. "I want to make sure I don't buy a bad apple."  
  
"I didn't realize buying fruit was that difficult." He picked up an apple from the barrel, giving it a quick look over before he put it back in the barrel.  
  
"I have to be careful," Sydney explained, tying the bag of apples and putting it in the cart. "I don't know when I'll have to leave, so I need to make sure I buy fruit that won't go bad in two days."  
  
Vaughn nodded as they turned into an aisle of baked goods. He watched as she reached for a brand name bag of soft chocolate chip cookies, pausing when he said her name. "Those are not as good as these," he insisted, picking up a bag of store-brand chocolate chip cookies.   
  
"You want me to believe that store brand is better than the brand that has the commercials with all the cute elves?" She grinned as he nodded. Sydney rolled her eyes but took the store-brand cookies, placing them in the cart. Again pushing the cart she questioned, "So, when are the Kings in town again?"   
  
Before he could respond, their smiles faded as her cell phone rang. Impatiently, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the offensive item. "Hello."  
  
"The Alliance once owned a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris; they stored documentation of weapons sales, drug trades, and blackmail there. Be there tomorrow night at quarter to eight."   
  
Sydney felt the lump rise in her throat as the volume of her voice dropped, "Mom." 


	18. Chapter 18

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.   
  
Dedication: To Linda  
  
A/N: This was originally going to be the end before the epilogue. There will be one more chapter after this *then* the epilogue - you guys would have gone nuts if I ended it here, don't you think?  
  
"There's nothing good that lasts forever." - David Gray, "Freedom"  
  
Those that love beyond the world cannot be seperated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies - William Penn  
  
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Vaughn felt the wrinkles press painfully together on his forehead at the single word she solemnly uttered. "Syd?" He watched as she met his eyes.   
  
"Mom?" she repeated again, this time only to a dial tone.   
  
"Syd?" he repeated as she turned off the phone and looked at him.   
  
"That was my mother," she spoke softly, confusion spread across her face as she looked away. "She wants me to be at a warehouse in Paris tomorrow night."  
  
"What?" The crow's feet on his usually chiseled face grew deeper as he waited for her response.  
  
"The Alliance owned a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris. She wants me there tomorrow night," Sydney repeated. Finally lifting her eyes from the grocery cart, she met his eyes, the confusion and concern easily read. "What could she possibly want from me?"  
  
"I don't know," he conceded. "You're not going without back up," Vaughn confidently spoke. They both knew instinctively what he meant. In all actuality, he could care less about what else the CIA sent to Paris, as long as he was there for her.   
  
Sydney nodded, looking down at her cell phone as she spoke. "I need to call my father."  
  
For a short period of time, it felt to both of them as though nothing had changed. Vaughn followed Sydney's car to her new condo, following closely behind her as she dropped her bag on the counter and then left. Then less than an hour later they walked together into the CIA building, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked. As they entered, Marshall stuttered his greetings, quickly working on whatever new gadget was necessary with his wife helpfully by his side.  
  
"Good, you're here. Kendall's about to start. When I came in I thought his head was about to burst." Will had quickly walked over to join them en-route to the conference room.  
  
"What about the date?" Sydney asked, looking over Vaughn's form to her best friend.  
  
"I told her that I had a family emergency," he explained. Leaning closer to the pair, his voice dropped a heavy octave. "Hey, you guys, what do you think about me telling Elise the truth -" he started before Kendall whizzed by.  
  
"Let's get moving ladies and gentleman, time is of paramount importance," the director pointed out as he led them into the conference room. Moments later he took command of the room with Jack Bristow, a grainy surveillance photo of her mother on the screen.   
  
"Irina Derevko. For those of you who don't remember, she's responsible for the death of twelve CIA operatives, as well as countless others we cannot prove. Formerly known as 'The Man'. Mother of Sydney Bristow, former wife of Jack Bristow," he explained. "Sixty-three minutes ago, Ms. Derevko contacted her daughter via cell phone from a payphone in a remote area of France. She instructed Sydney to be at a warehouse tomorrow at quarter to eight in the evening," he spoke and pushed another button, a grainy image of an overgrown warehouse coming onto the screen. "This is a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris, formerly property of the Alliance. It's believed they held some of their most important documents here, perhaps even bodies from time to time. This is where Ms. Derevko instructed her daughter to be.  
  
"We have good reason to believe that Ms. Derevko could lead us straight to Arvin Sloane and Mr. Sark," he said as another image of the two men appeared. "Mr. Sark escaped our custody over a year ago while on transport to Camp Harris. This time people, given the opportunity, let's not be so careless," he commanded.   
  
"Given his experience with both Arvin Sloane and Irina Derevko, Jack Bristow will be overseeing this operation. Not only are we looking to apprehend Derevko, Sloane and Sark, but we're also looking for any Rambaldi artifacts or any evidence that could lead us to uncover where Ms. Bristow's been the last two years, or what happened to her," he pointed out. He then looked at Jack and sat down.   
  
Wheeling closer to the center front of the room, Jack Bristow turned to look at all of them. "The warehouse is nothing special. We've been observing it from time to time since the destruction of the Alliance, and have no reason to believe it's been in use. We performed an annual search throughout the warehouse four months ago and found nothing out of the ordinary. Although I'm certain that Irina Derevko has motivation for directing Sydney to this specific warehouse, it's not clear why yet," he conceded.  
  
"I'll be running the operation from base ops. Agent Dixon, Agent Weiss, you'll be accompanying Sydney and Agent Vaughn to Paris," he explained. Looking directly at the younger man he added, "Agent Vaughn, I assumed you'd be interested in being part of the team." Solemnly the man in question nodded before the elder agent continued, "Weiss, Dixon and Vaughn will be waiting outside the warehouse as back up. Sydney will proceed in on her own."  
  
Carefully listening to the plan, Vaughn sat up straight and spoke. "Wouldn't it make more sense for someone to enter the warehouse with Sydney? We don't know what sort of back up Derevko will have. We don't want her entering without immediate back up."  
  
"Fine," Jack relented. After two years he was tired of fighting with Agent Vaughn. When it all melted away, they were fighting for the same side and cause anyway. For his determination and loyalty to his daughter, even for his naive morality, Jack Bristow had spent the last two years coming to respect Michael Vaughn. If Vaughn wanted to accompany Sydney, to give her the back up his disability prevented him from providing, he'd allow it. "Agent Vaughn and Sydney will enter the warehouse with Agent Dixon and Agent Weiss acting as back up outside. We'll also need to contact local authorities."  
  
"I'm sorry," Will spoke up. "I still don't understand why Derevko would suddenly want to meet Sydney now," he conceded, glancing apologetically at his best friend.  
  
"Although Derevko's motive isn't obvious, there is a strategy here. We need to be prepared against any action she may have planned," Jack Bristow insisted. "This woman's strategy has been proven time and time again to be long-term. Decades perhaps. We have no way of knowing how long she's had this planned."  
  
"We'll never know," Sydney sighed and dropped her hands. A moment later she regained her posture as she looked at her father. "We might never know what their strategy is, but this is the best shot we have at getting Mom and getting a lead on Sloane. Their motive shouldn't matter, not if we take the proper precautions."  
  
"Sydney's right," Jack nodded. "Right now motivation is not our concern. In time it will become obvious. Currently, with the intelligence we have, it's impossible to predict their next move. This is our best opportunity. Once the jet is prepared, the team will leave."  
  
The team disbanded as Sydney walked out of the conference room with Vaughn, Will and Weiss. "If everything goes well Syd, this sounds promising," Dixon commented.  
  
Shaking her head, Sydney replied, "I know my mother too well to expect this to go as planned. There's something here we don't see, something we don't know about. It's unlikely that now, for no apparent reason, she suddenly wants to see me."  
  
"Your dad's right, I'm sure her motivation will be become clear."  
  
"Yeah," she agreed, sounding far from convinced. "I just hope it's not too late then."  
  
Vaughn looked at his two friends, all three men silently echoing the same sentiment.  
  
  
  
  
  
By the end of the night, the small team was on a plane flying towards France. Exhausted from the late-night emotional roller coaster, Sydney had fallen asleep shortly after they'd reviewed the mission specs. As they'd boarded the cargo plane, she'd chosen to sit between a large pile of wooden crates and Vaughn. As she slept, the three men dozed in and out of their own slumber, and once again covered the mission plan as she unconsciously got comfortable with her head on Vaughn's shoulder.  
  
According to the CIA's Intel, it was nearly an hour and a half drive from the heart of Paris to the warehouse that they'd been directed to. When the plane landed in Paris, with the flight and the time difference, they had less than four hours before the scheduled meet. Directly from the airport, they briefly left one another to change in the airport bathrooms, before piling into a compact car and heading towards the warehouse.  
  
"Are you ready for this Syd?" Dixon asked as they stood outside the car, slipping on the appropriate tactical gear. High above them, the moon offered them their only light as they surveyed the area, relying on the government surveillance and base-ops to show them what the moonlight did not.   
  
"I'm fine," his former partner insisted as she adjusted her shirt over her bulletproof vest. Checking the ammunition in her gun, Sydney glanced over to find Vaughn doing the same. Under the moonlight, he followed half a step behind her as she opened the warehouse door.   
  
"Do you see anything?" Weiss asked into their earpiece.   
  
"Nothing," Sydney answered, her eyes adjusting to the warehouse's dim light.  
  
"I don't see a light switch either," Vaughn muttered.  
  
"Okay guys, the specs we have on the warehouse are old but you're going to want to take five steps forward. You're in a massive hallway. The first storage room is to your right, roughly six steps from the door. I guess we start there," Weiss sighed.  
  
"Copy that," Sydney replied. Reaching for the door handle, she quickly looked over her shoulder at Vaughn. Despite the darkness, her eyes detected his slight nod before they stepped into the warehouse.  
  
Both had to struggle not to cover their eyes at the fluorescent lights that bounced off the walls and the gray and white speckled linoleum floor. Guns forward, both turned around at the sound of a gun clicking. Neither was surprised to face Arvin Sloane, pointing a gun directly at Sydney.   
  
"Put the gun down," Sydney demanded.  
  
"Punctual as always Sydney. It's good to see that some things never change," he snickered. He then trailed his eyes over to her companion, his snicker turning into a snarl. "Mr. Vaughn. I can't say you look better than I remember. However, I suppose two years without the woman you love could do that to you, as I know from personal experience."  
  
"Emily's death is no one's fault but your own. You put her in that position," Sydney snapped.  
  
"Yes, well," Sloane sighed and looked back at his former agent. "I suppose it's all in your perspective."  
  
"Put the gun down," she repeated. If anything, the training he'd forced her to endure, luring her into thinking she'd be working for the good of humanity, had taught her never to let an opponent get her off track. In the back of her mind she was unsure who would suffer more from a discussion about Emily, and she refused to come out the loser.  
  
"Now what fun would that be?" he replied, his gun still evenly lined with her.  
  
Although she didn't believe the words she spoke, she challenged him with a steady voice, "You wouldn't actually shoot me."  
  
"No," he sighed. "I know you Sydney, far better than you think I do. I know you value the lives of the people you care about more than your own," Sloane recalled. Faster than she could blink, he readjusted the barrel of the gun, this time directing it straight at Vaughn.  
  
"Put the gun down," Sydney demanded, catching the slight crack at the end of her words. "Put the gun down!" she screamed, recognizing her voice losing its confidence, despite her tone. "You aren't even telling us what this is all about! What do you want?" she asked, anxious to get the gun directed away from Vaughn, even if it did get aimed back at her.  
  
"Isn't that obvious Sydney? It's what I've always wanted, from the moment I recruited you into SD-6. I want you to work with me. You're the key to Rambaldi. I didn't realize it right away, but you are. Together, we can have more power than you could ever imagine. Work with me Sydney, and you'll never want for anything again," Sloane calmly explained, not removing his eyes or his gun from the form of Michael Vaughn, seemingly unflustered by the gun the other man had pointed back at him.   
  
"Why should I work with you? You've done nothing but cause me pain from the moment I entered this life. You *lured* me into this life, you tricked me into thinking I was working for good!" she snapped. "You ruined my life! You killed Danny and Francie! You *killed* my unborn child and took away *two* years of my life! Give me one good reason not to kill you, nevermind to *work* with you," she scoffed.   
  
"That's quite simple. I know you Sydney, I know your Agent Vaughn as well. You're both skilled shooters, but I doubt either one of you has ever killed with a weapon. Both people of such naive morals. I can only assume you'd hesitate to pull the trigger."  
  
"Guess again," Vaughn muttered.  
  
"After all these years Sydney, you should know I always make these decisions extremely easy. Either you come with me, work with me, or I detonate half a dozen explosives triggered throughout this warehouse. Then the three of us, along with whatever team I'm sure has accompanied you, die."  
  
Whatever instructions Weiss and Dixon were yelling in her ear went unnoticed. Even with the most evil man he'd ever known aiming a gun at him, Vaughn pulled his eyes from Sloane's to Sydney's when he sensed her looking at him. Reading her eyes, he silently pleaded with her. It had been all too easy for him to see that she was considering this, that unless he could silently talk her out of this, she would go with him; that Sydney would not let Sloane inflict his damage on anyone else. Unfortunately, Vaughn was all too aware that if he let her go, he might never see her again. Although there was no clear alternative, he was certain there had to be a loophole, anything other than letting her agree to this insane plan.  
  
Before Sydney could answer, a gunshot echoed through the lofty storage space. In horror, he watched her brown orbs widen in fear before she realized that it wasn't either one of them. The reaction time played out over a span of a few short seconds, her brown eyes running from terror to relief. They both looked over to watch Arvin Sloane slump forward against the dusty linoleum. Without taking another step towards him, she was certain he was dead. Lifting her eyes across the warehouse, she was shocked to meet the eyes of her own mother, as the gun dropped from a hand resting limply at Irina's side.  
  
The sound of boots approaching from the hall sent both Sydney and Vaughn turning around, drawing their guns on an equally shocked and slightly out of breath Weiss and Dixon.   
  
"Why the hell weren't you listening to us? What the hell happened?" Weiss struggled. Only a moment later did he see the form of Arvin Sloane and watched as Dixon approached Irina Derevko, taking her in handcuffs. "Oh," he muttered under his breath.  
  
Irina pulled her heels into the ground as Dixon led her past the half-circle the three agents had formed around Sloane's body.   
  
"Sydney," she spoke her daughter's name as all three heads turned. "There are forests all around this area. Three and a half kilometers southeast of here there's a safehouse. In the kitchen there's a walk-in pantry. Behind the broom and mop is a keypad. The code's 41775. It will open up panels on the floor of the pantry. It's a bunker. Sark should be there. You must find him before ten, or he'll know something's gone wrong with the plan; then he'll be expecting you."  
  
Swallowing back her mixed emotions, Sydney nodded. "Thank you," she replied as Dixon took her mother out to be met by local authorities.  
  
"Syd..." Vaughn gently reached over to touch the inside skin of her elbow. Around them paramedics walked in, taking only a few moments of observation before pronouncing Sloane dead. Sydney watched, unblinking, as they took his body off of the ground. Placing it on the stretcher, she watched the sheet pulled up over his face, hoping he'd taken all the evil in her life along with him.  
  
Finally she met Vaughn's eyes, her posture straightening instantly. "Ninety-one minutes Vaughn, or we lose any chance we have of getting Sark," she reminded him, looking at her watch.  
  
"Hey!" Weiss walked back in to the area, carrying something that resembled a walkie-talkie. "We just got off with base ops. The local authorities are going to hold Derevko until your father and Kendall can get out here to bring her back."  
  
"My father's coming?" Sydney's eyes widened.  
  
"What? You thought they'd trust us with something that important?" Weiss' eyes widened. Sighing, he muttered, "Yeah, me too, but no such luck. Anyway, the guys back in L.A. have been surveilling the area and we've got pretty decent locations on how to get to this safehouse your mother's directed us to. They're checking it out as we speak, surveying the area with infrared, anything that might be in the building - you name it, they're looking for it. Depending on what the bunker is composed of, we might not be able to detect anything in there, but it's the best we've got."  
  
"C'mon guys," Dixon walked in. "We've got to get going or else we could lose Sark."  
  
"How reliable do you think my mother's Intel is?" Sydney asked softly, all three men looking at her.  
  
"She's the best lead we've got right now Syd," Vaughn gently pointed out. "If anything she's more credible now. She led us here, to Sloane."  
  
"But why? Why now?" she pointed out.  
  
"Maybe because she's your mother," Weiss proposed. "Maybe because of that, she *doesn't* need a reason," he softly suggested.  
  
With that in mind, the three returned to the compact car, folding their tired and increasingly aching bodies into the car. Silence once again wrapped over them, an invisible bubble wrap against the rest of the world. All of their minds raced, but none faster than Sydney's. Less than twenty-four hours after a bizarre phone call, Arvin Sloane was dead and her mother was on her way to spending time in a Paris prison. Meanwhile, her father and Kendall were on their way out to accompany Irina Derevko and anyone else they could possibly detain, back to the United States. This time they wouldn't escape, even if she had to watch them herself.  
  
"Don't enter yet!" Jack commanded into their ears as they approached the house. Twenty-three minutes left, if her mother's warning was accurate.   
  
"Are we clear?" Sydney demanded.  
  
"C'mon Jack, we're running out of time here," Dixon reminded him.  
  
"You're clear," her father relayed. Dixon used a picklock to open the door, the agents slowly entering the safehouse.  
  
The layout was nothing unusual. The living room was decorated sparsely, a fireplace that had obviously been recently used. Under them the carpet was quiet as they walked over it, into a hallway. No photos were visible, nothing that went from making a house a home. A sterile feeling echoed throughout the place as they stepped into a dimly lit kitchen.   
  
"Found the pantry," Sydney replied into her earpiece. To the left of the kitchen sink there was a tiny pantry, barely long enough to fit two agents as she moved the directed objects out of the room.   
  
"What was the code again?" Vaughn asked, staring at the keypad.   
  
"41775," Weiss reminded him.  
  
Softly she added, "My birthday."   
  
A quick glance of gentle sympathy was directed at her from green eyes before he entered the code. Just as Irina had predicted, a small portion of the floor raised slightly, revealing a steep staircase. Gun pointed forward, Sydney looked back at the three men before she started down the stairs.  
  
"Now Sydney, what a pleasant surprise," Sark greeted her with the barrel of a gun. The young man stood in front of a desk in a dimly lit area. Three other chairs were in the room and nothing looked particularly comfortable. There were, however, a fax machine and various other ways of communication. "I thought for sure I'd never see you again, or at least not in such good condition," he sneered.  
  
"You bastard," she swore softly, all three guns still aimed steadily at him. "You're not getting away this time."  
  
"How can you be so sure? After these past two years, how can you be so sure of *anything?" he mocked her. "I can only assume you received my greeting. I hoped it made you smile as it much it made me."   
  
"I guess my sense of humor's been damaged," she dryly retorted.   
  
"This ends here Sark," Vaughn commanded. "We can either do it the easy way, or the hard way."   
  
"So what? I can enjoy your government's lovely facilities at Camp Harris?"   
  
"If you don't cooperate, you're not getting out of here alive," Dixon vowed.  
  
"What makes you certain you will?" the younger man challenged. "I do, of course, have my loyalties to my employer to consider."  
  
"We know from personal experience how flexible that is," Vaughn reminded him.   
  
"Then make it worth my while," he shrugged calmly, his gun still even.  
  
"Are you insane?" Sydney asked. "This is three against one, this shouldn't even be a *question* in your mind."   
  
"Really?" Sark smirked. Only moments later the sound of a gun going off echoed through the bunker. Almost as if in slow motion, Sydney looked to her right in time to see Dixon fall to the ground, the bullet having impacted his lower left side. Instinctively, it had been Weiss who had retaliated, his aim landing on Sark's shoulder. Unable to quickly fire back with his injury, Sydney attended to Dixon, as Vaughn was able to handcuff the young man.  
  
"Dixon! Dixon, are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," he choked out. "I have my vest on, I just feel slightly out of breath."  
  
"Syd." Vaughn knelt down next to her as they slowly helped him up. "We've got medical services on their way," he reassured her.   
  
"I'll be fine," Dixon promised. Nevertheless, under his protests, the two insisted on helping him slowly up the steep stairs. "I'm just glad we finally have him in custody," he heaved as they sat him gently down in the sparse living area.   
  
"Where's Sark?" Vaughn asked as Weiss re-entered the house.  
  
"Medical services just arrived, they're looking him over. One of us is supposed to supervise his medical care before Jack and Kendall can get their asses out here."  
  
"I'll do it -" Sydney started.  
  
Vaughn quickly stepped up to her side to interject. "Syd. I'm sure Weiss wouldn't mind doing it, would you? I mean how far off are they?"   
  
During their friendship, Eric Weiss had been, at best, fair at reading his friend's expressions, but it was even clear to him that he would agree to observe Sark or face hell for it later. He looked quickly at his watch and answered, "They're probably another twelve hours away."   
  
"How about you take the first six and then I'll take over," Vaughn offered.  
  
"Yeah," he sighed. "Fine" He turned to leave. Under his breath, Vaughn thought he heard Weiss mutter, "But I better get a damn eclair this time," as he walked away.  
  
Standing next to her in the dim room, he looked over at her and smiled when Sydney's eyes caught his. "So," he started as they slowly walked out, oblivious to the team around them that was busy gathering evidence. "Are you hungry?"  
  
Sydney stopped. "Vaughn," she sighed.  
  
"What?" he shrugged, unable to stop his smile. "I don't think I've seen you eat anything since before we left L.A. After all we've been through... Aren't you hungry?"  
  
"What about Sark?"   
  
Wrinkling his nose he inquired, "You want to eat with him?"  
  
"No," she laughed and shook her head.  
  
"Weiss can handle it. Dixon's going to be resting. There's no need for three agents to watch one man. Not when he'll be in a local prison anyway. It'll only be a few hours," he reminded her.  
  
Pushing hair behind her ear, Sydney looked down at her outfit and then back at him. "I can't go like this."  
  
"We can go back, make sure Sark's where he should be and that Dixon's checked out. You can change there," he suggested. Then he took in his own attire and chuckled. "I should probably change too," he agreed, swiping the bottom of his nose with his finger.  
  
"Okay," she nodded, releasing a small smile.  
  
"Really?" Vaughn's own smile reflected his enthusiasm as she nodded.  
  
"Really," Sydney agreed.   
  
Smiling at one another for a moment, he eventually broke the moment by cocking his head to the opened door. "We should probably go."  
  
"Right," she nodded and followed him out of the house.  
  
  
  
  
  
By Paris time, it was just after eleven when they stepped foot inside the restaurant. In the car they'd been nearly silent, neither touching the other on the short drive, allowing the late-night French music to fill the air. Still, Vaughn had hurried around the car to help her out, openly inspecting the outfit she wore under her coat. He'd then led her into the restaurant, his hand on the small of her back as he held the door open for her. The restaurant was one of the few that looked good and was still open at that hour, the atmosphere soft with the scent of good food and dim lighting. Their arms brushing one another's, they stood as Vaughn gave the maitre'd their name, Sydney wondering how he'd managed to get reservations in such short time.  
  
"Your table will be ready momentarily," the maitre'd spoke to them in Vaughn's native tongue. "If monsieur and mademoiselle would like, you could put your coats in the closet." He gestured to a small room off of their right. Vaughn then peeked over at Sydney, noting her slight nod as they walked into the closet.   
  
Only a few various coats were resting on padded hangers in the room as a full-length mirror stood near the door. Quickly he shrugged off his own coat before helping her out of hers, smiling as she softly thanked him. Then he rested the coat on a hanger next to his and walked over to her.   
  
In the few moments she'd had to herself, she'd stood inspecting herself in the mirror. It was true that her image had changed ever so slightly since she'd reappeared, but to him, she looked no less beautiful. Standing close behind her, he ached down to the marrow in his bones with the urge to touch her. Instead, Vaughn smiled as her brown eyes caught his in the reflection of the glass.  
  
"You're so beautiful," he whispered. Sydney's silent response was her smile, and he wondered what she would have said if the maitre'd hadn't arrived to take them to their table. After she was sitting across from him, their waiter briefly gone, they sat silently looking at their menus. The wine was poured and her menu was down before he finally broke the silence. "Well, it's no Trattori Di Nardi, but it's certainly nice."  
  
Smiling, she sipped her wine before responding, "I'd still love to go there one day."  
  
His voice dipped and his smile grew soft. "And I'd still love to take you."  
  
Sydney allowed her eyes to drop down to her plate, afraid of once again being lost in his deep gaze. Something about his eyes always drew her to him, even in the beginning when she thought he was too cocky and a little too young to be doing his job. Now, she couldn't imagine having endured the hell she had, without Vaughn on her side. Drifting back to their earliest days, her mind wandered around to one of their earliest meetings, prompting her next question. "How's Donovan?"  
  
"Lazy, overweight and perfectly happy that way," he chuckled. "He's good. He never gets excited about anything. I swear, with his lack of stress, he'll outlive us all."  
  
"He sound wonderful," she smiled.   
  
"He is," he agreed. "He's a good dog. Loves the Kings," Vaughn explained as she laughed. "What? I'm serious. He sits there and watches them with me!"  
  
"Are you sure he's not sleeping?"  
  
"I'm sure!" he insisted, both of them now laughing. The waiter arrived, ending their laughter. For a few seconds they paused to give him their order, thanking him as he walked away. Eventually Sydney looked back at him, enjoying the way the soft lighting lit up his features and the smile he had directed at her, melting every part of her.  
  
"Have you played any pool lately?"  
  
Vaughn shook his head, taking a sip of his wine. "I haven't had a chance. Most of my free time is spent at the rink. Will and I play once in a while. Weiss refuses to play with me. I would too if I were him, he's horrendous," he shook his head, his nose wrinkled as she laughed.  
  
"Is Will any good?"  
  
"He's getting better. Now I'll tell you who *is* good - Marshall."  
  
Nearly sputtering on her wine, she replied, "Marshall? Marshall Flinkman?"  
  
Grinning, he nodded. "He said it all comes down to geometry. I'm not entirely sure what he meant, but he's not half-bad."  
  
"Still, he's not quite at your caliber?" she teased.  
  
"Syd, he's got years of hustling and thousands of hours of playing before he reaches my experience," he reminded her. "You know," he grew slightly somber, setting his wineglass down. "We never got to play."  
  
"I know," she nodded.   
  
"We should."  
  
"We should," Sydney confirmed. "Not that I have any vacation time coming up though," she pointed out with a smile. "I think I've used up my quota for a while."  
  
"Don't listen to Kendall Syd. When all of this is done, you deserve a vacation."   
  
In the moment she tore her eyes away from his, Vaughn was certain of the question she was about to ask, and prepared himself for the emotional punch. "Did you ever go to Santa Barbara?"  
  
"No," he shook his head. "I... At the time, I couldn't imagine leaving your apartment, nevermind the city..." he trailed off. Finally, he captured her gaze and spoke softly, "I never would have gone without you."  
  
So many responses raced through her mind - some cruel, others not as harsh. Instead, she just smiled, nodding briefly as the waiter reappeared with their meal. A comfortable silence draped across the table as they ate, occasionally breaking it to ask the other one how their meal was. For the time, they were both happy just sitting across from one another, enjoying the other's presence. Sydney reveled in knowing his smiles were directed at her, and the warmth in his eyes was made to make her melt. Meanwhile, Vaughn quietly cherished that he could once again look up and find her there; that after what had felt like a lifetime, she was back and finally with him.   
  
"I was thinking about getting a dog," she broke the silence over dessert.  
  
"Really?" Vaughn looked up from his dessert to see her nodding.  
  
"I've wanted once since I was a little girl. Francie and I couldn't have pets at the apartment, and my father didn't like dogs. I can have them now. A bunch of my neighbors do. I have to wait though, make sure I won't have to go on any more last minute trips."  
  
"Weiss usually keeps an eye on Donovan when I go away. Right now he's with my mom," he explained. "What kind of dog?"  
  
"Whatever the pound has," she smiled. "I want to buy a car, and I just got the condo, so right now I can't afford a pet store. The pound's my best option."  
  
"I'll give you the name of my vet when you do. She's really good with Donovan, and he was from a pound."  
  
"That'd be great," Sydney agreed. "I just don't want anything too big. Something that won't destroy my house."  
  
"You'll find something," he assured her.   
  
They finished their dinner quietly. The few patrons who were there when they had arrived had slowly dribbled out of the restaurant. Vaughn instinctively helped her slip on her coat, his hand once again on the small of her back as he led her to the car. Above them, the chalk-colored stars shone down through the few dusty clouds. As they arrived at the passenger's door, she turned around to face him.   
  
"Vaughn..." She reached out to take his hand. "Thank you."  
  
"It was just dinner Syd," he smiled, their eyes meeting.   
  
"Just dinner," Sydney replied. Nodding, she felt his free hand place itself instinctively on her hip. "I had a great time."  
  
"Me too," he whispered.  
  
Then, she leaned up and kissed him. 


	19. Chapter 19

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.   
  
Dedication: To Becky & Orianna. You both offer me such massive support with your reviews & friendship, whether you realize it or not. Thank you!  
  
A/N: There's still the epilogue. That's all I've got to say. Read on.  
  
"Home -- that blessed word, which opens to the human heart the most perfect glimpse of Heaven, and helps to carry it thither, as on an angel's wings." - Lydia M. Child  
  
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For the first day in December, it was unseasonably warm, even for Los Angeles. The sun had fallen in the city by the time they arrived back, and with the adjusted time, Sydney was exhausted. Dixon, Weiss and Vaughn had been on the same plane as she was for the flight back to the city while Kendall and Jack accompanied Sark, Irina and Sloane's body back to the states on a separate airliner. Once the plane had taken off, Sydney settled into a seat next to Vaughn, falling into a deep sleep with her upper body comfortably rested against his.  
  
Back in Los Angeles they went directly to Joint Task headquarters, despite the late time of their arrival. Piling into the van, the group of four was quiet as they passed through the streets of Los Angeles, congested with night work traffic. Somehow, despite the nearly half hour difference in the time of their plane arrivals, Jack and Kendall were already at headquarters when they arrived. Showing no sign of the exhaustion they must have felt, both men moved quickly to meet them as they entered.  
  
"Your mother wants you to see her," Kendall explained, forgoing any greeting as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Obviously, you're under no obligation to speak to her."  
  
"I don't know Jack," Kendall rebuffed. "I think it might be a good idea."  
  
"What purpose could it possibly serve? Seeing Derevko serves no purpose to Sydney or the CIA."  
  
"We don't know that for certain Jack."  
  
"Yes, we do. Arvin Sloane is dead and we have both Derevko and Sark in custody, what else could that woman possibly offer us?"  
  
"That's my point exactly - for some reason, Derevko led us directly to Sloane and Sark. I'd like to know why. I'm sure your daughter would as well," he glanced pointedly at Sydney.  
  
"If Sydney doesn't want to see -" Vaughn began.  
  
"Mr. Vaughn, I don't think this concerns you," Kendall snapped.  
  
"Anything that concerns Sydney's well being, concerns me," he quickly retorted.   
  
"Mr. Vaughn -" Kendall's voice rose.  
  
"Agent Vaughn is right," Jack stopped. Although Jack had come to respect him over the past few years, he was the last person Vaughn would have expected a vote of confidence from. When it came to Sydney, however, they would each bend over backwards to agree if it was in her best interest. "If Sydney doesn't want to see Derevko, no one should force her to."  
  
"Dad," Sydney stopped her father before he could carry on any further into his tirade. "I think I should see her," she spoke softly, feeling Vaughn's eyes burn into her as she did.  
  
"Sydney -" Jack started.  
  
"I think I need to see her - for my sake," she corrected.   
  
Kendall nodded. "She's located where she always was."  
  
Meeting the eyes of her father, she then sent a nod in Kendall's direction and started towards the cellblocks. The same familiar guard was even on duty, murmuring a good evening and lifting the gates for her. Even two years of technology couldn't take away the loud creak and churning that arose as the gates lifted. Stepping to the cage, she was only slightly relieved to see that her mother's expression was one of exhaustion, tinged with relief.  
  
"Sydney."  
  
"You led us directly to Sark, to Sloane... I don't know why, but the CIA thanks you."  
  
"I didn't do it for the CIA," Irina softly corrected.   
  
Momentarily, Sydney looked away before she nodded, daring to meet her mother's chestnut eyes.   
  
"I don't know if you'll ever believe me Sydney, if any amount of words or actions can ever prove this to you, but I did it for *you*. Everything has always been for you... My actions may not speak that, but never once in thirty years have you been far from my mind. You're a smart woman Sydney, I'm sure you've deduced that your father and I were not planning on having children when we conceived you, but from the moment I found out you were on the way... You were the first thing on my mind when I woke and the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep. The only person I can blame for all the years I've missed is myself, but all those years... I'd close my eyes and imagine what you looked like, the type of person you were... You far surpass anything I ever imagined," she smiled softly.  
  
"I'm partially to blame for you joining this life, and if I could change it... Of the many mistakes I've made, that's the one I carry the most. I wanted you to have the life you wanted, a normal life. This was the only way I could give it to you."  
  
"You could have done it without sacrificing yourself," Sydney reminded her, blinking away the moisture in her eyes.  
  
"I could have," Irina agreed. "You are my daughter. I never wanted to hurt you. I know I've inflicted years of pain on you, years of lies... You were always my first priority. You've always been my little girl." She smiled again, the tears building up in the corner of her eyes. "I wish I could tell you what happened to you in the past two years, but I *honestly* don't know. If I did, I would have found you, I would have been with you. I will always regret the day I affiliated myself with Arvin Sloane, but he's gone now. It's the only gift I can offer you Sydney. Take it."  
  
Sydney nodded and pressed on, "I'm going to ask Kendall to give you special considerations when they prosecute you."  
  
"I don't deserve -"  
  
"Yes," she stopped her. "You do. We don't know if we would have ever found Sloane if it wasn't for you."  
  
"It could have been your entire lifetime," Irina agreed. "Sloane felt he'd found the way to eternal life when he solved Rambaldi."  
  
"In truth, he was just as fallible as the rest of us," her daughter added.  
  
"More so. Sloane had a blind faith in Rambaldi; he truly thought he was going to gain immortality. That made him especially vulnerable."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Get out now Sydney. Make yourself a real life. In the end... I spent *years* working to solve the mystery of Rambaldi, dedicating myself to making contacts and enemies... In truth, it doesn't matter. I look back on my life and I have two things I'm proud of, and one of them is you."  
  
"You said two," Sydney cautiously reminded.  
  
"My actions don't validate it, but I've love someone with everything I have. With all I am. There's no way to prove it to anyone, especially the two of you, but I always have. Despite my own reasoning."  
  
"Dad," she spoke softly.  
  
Slowly Irina nodded. "Yes."  
  
"Then why did you leave us? Why didn't you just tell him the truth?"  
  
"I was thirty years old, I'd been involved in KGB for twelve years, and with your father for most of that time. My superiors threatened to hurt the two of you. Leaving you was the most difficult thing I've ever done. Telling him wasn't an option. I was convinced that if I told him the truth, I'd be put in jail and lose you anyway. At least on the outside, I could do my best to keep track of you and still have my freedom."  
  
"You should have trusted Dad," she whispered.  
  
"Your father's a loyal man. Perhaps he would have turned on me, but I should have trusted him," Irina agreed. "Sometimes, the hardest thing in the world isn't bearing your soul to a stranger, but telling the people you love the truth."   
  
Having some unfortunate experience with her mother's words of wisdom, she silently nodded.   
  
Hesitantly, Irina pressed on. "Sydney, are you in love with Agent Vaughn?" she inquired. The silence that followed was the only answer a mother needed.  
  
Ignoring her mother's question, Sydney spoke. "Thank you. For everything."  
  
Silently, the other woman nodded. "Your welcome Sydney. Now you can live your life. Don't make my mistakes. Be happy."  
  
"I will," she promised, turning around and leaving.  
  
  
  
  
  
Once away from her mother, Sydney was instructed to meet with the rest of the team in the conference room. Stepping in, she smiled at Will, looking tired and wrinkled in his suede jacket, jeans and T-shirt. Even after two years of working in the CIA, he refused to buy a suit. Silently, she was grateful - Will was not the suit-wearing type. They always forced him to look formal and professional, two words that never came to mind. The effect was always one of discomfort for both him and those around him, as he'd fidget with every aspect of the suit whenever he wore one.  
  
"Miss Bristow, I'm glad you chose to join us."  
  
"I came as soon as I could," she explained to Kendall, sliding into her chair.   
  
"The operation in Paris was a massive success, thanks to Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn, Agent Dixon and Agent Weiss," Kendall explained.   
  
"What's going to happen to them?" Sydney inquired. "My mother and Sark, what's going to happen to them?"  
  
"The state is currently collecting evidence to bring them to trial." Kendall shrugged.  
  
"The case shouldn't be that difficult to make," Weiss quipped.  
  
"I'd like the judge to give my mother special consideration," Sydney spoke up.  
  
Kendall's eyes grew as the rest of the room silently looked at her. "Irina Derevko? Do I need to remind you that she betrayed not only you and your father, but the entire government, killing twelve government employees and nearly you -"  
  
"I'm well aware of what she's done," she cut him off. "I spent the first part of my life thinking she's dead and she's nearly killed me. She betrayed my father and killed Agent Vaughn's father - I know all about what she's done. Still, without her, we wouldn't have Sark, we would have spent *years* looking for Sloane - " her voice began to steadily rise.  
  
"You don't know that!" the director snapped.  
  
"We *do*."  
  
"We could have caught Arvin Sloane -"  
  
"So what? So he could break out in another month? Now he's *dead*. He's dead and he can't hurt anyone ever again. If it had been one of your agents, you'd be commending them for this -"  
  
"Are you suggesting I commend Irina Derevko?" He grew incredulous.  
  
"No! I'm suggesting you give some consideration for what she's done for us. She killed Sloane, and then could have easily killed the rest of us, but she didn't. There was no reason for her to tell us where Sark was, but she *did* -"   
  
"This could be part of some elaborate stunt - " Jack started to remind her.  
  
"We don't know that!" Sydney snapped. "I'm not asking you to let her go; I'm not asking you to forgive the decades of crime and pain she's caused. All I'm asking is you give her consideration. Spare her life. You were willing to spare Sloane's life when Emily was going to turn him in. Sloane's gone, Sark's here and she turned herself in -"  
  
"Again, Agent Bristow. This is the third time your mother's pulled this turn coat stunt. I'm not inclined to believe anything she says!" Kendall snapped.  
  
"Then believe what she did," Sydney whispered harshly. "She *did* kill Sloane. Spare her the death penalty."  
  
"Jack?" Kendall sighed and looked at the other man.  
  
"We have to be cautious, again, this could be another set up orchestrated by both Sark and Derevko - we know they've worked together before. However," Jack sighed. "Sydney is correct. Arvin Sloane is dead. I'm the last person to give Irina Derevko leniency, but if Sydney believes we should spare her life, I believe it's something we should consider. If she continues to cooperate, there *is* a possibility she could lead us to her contacts."   
  
"That's a slim possibility, at best," he pointed out.  
  
"It's still a possibility," Sydney reminded him.   
  
"I'll have to talk to the state," Kendall sighed. "I don't make any promises -"  
  
"I'll talk in front of the judge if necessary," she insisted.   
  
"That might just be necessary," he retorted. "Jack?"  
  
"Again, if Sydney believes her life should be spared, it's something we should consider," he agreed.  
  
"Agent Vaughn? You're not exactly neutral in this situation, what's your take?"  
  
Since he'd been all but staring at her since her entrance, it was no great feat for Vaughn to meet Sydney's eyes across the table. Finally, he looked back at the director, cleared his throat and answered. "In this situation, I'm not sure I'm qualified to make any judgement."  
  
"I'd like to listen to whatever insight you'd like to offer."  
  
"Irina Derevko killed government agents, including my father, and nearly killed Sydney on more than one occasion. However, she *did* lead us to Arvin Sloane. She obviously came into contact with him after she left here, but we have no evidence to prove that she did so for any reason other than to lead us to him. If Sydney believes we should spare her life... Then I think it's something the court should seriously consider."  
  
Once again meeting his eyes, Sydney smiled her relief in gratitude before Kendall spoke again.  
  
"I'll consider your request Agent Bristow, but only if you'd be willing to speaking front of the court at a later time."  
  
"I will," she vowed.   
  
"Then I guess there's nothing else to say," the director sighed. "It's late people, go home. I expect you back here tomorrow morning," he dismissed.  
  
Kendall was the first to leave the room as Sydney slowly stood. Weiss caught Vaughn in conversation as Will and Jack approached her. Turning towards her father, she spoke, "Dad -"  
  
"No Sydney," he stopped her. "She is your mother," he relented. "If you feel her life should be spared, then it's something the court should know."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered. Jack nodded and wheeled himself out of the room. Facing Will, she smiled as he pulled her into an embrace.  
  
"I'm so glad you're okay."  
  
"Me too," she replied and pulled back. "Sloane's dead."  
  
"They told me," he agreed. "Do you think she'll cooperate again?"  
  
"I hope so," she softly agreed. "Was Elise okay? When you left the other day?"  
  
"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm going to tell her the truth this weekend."  
  
"I'm sure it'll be okay Will," Sydney assured him. "She seems great."  
  
"If it goes well, I was hoping you could meet her next weekend. Dinner at the restaurant maybe."  
  
"I'd like that," she agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Vaughn slowly approaching.  
  
"I think I'm going to head home now." He smiled and tilted his head towards the door. "If you need me, call."  
  
"I will," she promised. "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Coffee?" he suggested.  
  
"Not tomorrow," she dismissed. "Tomorrow I want to sleep in for as long as I can."  
  
"Before the dictator drags us out of bed," Will finished as she laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow Syd."  
  
"Tomorrow Will," Sydney promised, smiling at him as he walked out. That left only the two of them in the conference room. Before she even went to face him, Sydney felt him approaching her. Meeting his eyes, she spoke. "Vaughn -"  
  
Vehemently, he shook his head. "No Syd," he stopped. "I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't matter." In an attempt to hide his discomfort, he looked down at his feet, his hands in his pockets as he added, "It's never changed anything between us before. It never will."   
  
"Okay," she slowly nodded, as he finally looked back at her.   
  
Sighing, he took in her appearance. What had nearly two days ago been a neatly tailored and pressed business suit, was by then wrinkled on her tense form. Studying the way her shoulders tensed, the strict set of her jaw, and the poorly hidden exhaustion in her eyes, Vaughn wanted nothing more than to take her home. To gently take her out of her soiled clothes, to draw her a hot bubble bath and to sit with her, in nothing but silence and dim bathroom light. Then to lead her to the bed, to wrap her in the soft flannel sheets, the softest he would ever find, and to hold her in his arms while she slept.  
  
Finally, she turned her brown eyes on him, the fatigue that he met propelling him to break the silence. Without hesitation, he stepped towards her and gently took her hand. Long, warm, gentle fingers gently massaged her hand, eventually relaxing her whole body. Mindful that they were in a conference room, certain that it was one of the few rooms without security cameras, Vaughn cradled her hand in both of his and brought it up to his lips. With their eyes still locked, he gently kissed her fingers before he brought their hands back down.   
  
"C'mon Syd," he spoke softly, squeezing her fingers slightly. "Let's go home." 


	20. Epilogue

Title: Raw Precision  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.   
  
Dedication: This is dedicated to Linda. Without her, I never would have made it this far; I arguably wouldn't have finished this. Thank you for everything - you *are* the best!   
  
~*Time goes by so slowly and time can do so much.*~  
  
"Unchained Melody"  
  
Ten years had passed since Becky had last been in Los Angeles. A decade that, in retrospect, had gone by far too quickly. The older she got, the more she struggled to capture the years, to slow them down, only to have them go by faster than before. The memories of the nearly two years she spent in Los Angeles were bittersweet, but she held no grudges. Instead, there had been no cause to prompt her back to the city. Happily, she had established her life in Connecticut. She had worked in her mother's bed and breakfast for the first year, saving money and waiting for her divorce to be final, before she opened her own practice.  
  
Time had been generally good to her. She carried the losses she'd acquired with her day in and day out, but most days she looked back on the people and things she'd lost with joy, instead of the gut-wrenching pain it had once inflicted. Now nearing her late forties, she'd grown contemplative. Becky had been blessed enough to be able to honestly say there was very little of her life, of her decisions, that she regretted. The same extended to her time in Los Angeles - she had no regrets.  
  
It hadn't been her intention to not return to Los Angeles for such a long period of time, life had just worked itself that way. She supposed it was that way for many people. Events happen, people leave and enter your life and things take priority. Places you wanted to revisit, people who you hadn't seen, can sometimes lose their meaning to you and consequently fall into the background of long forgotten memories. Linda still lived in the area, but she went east once or twice a year, voiding any legitimate excuse Becky would have to visit. Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep or was stuck in traffic, she'd wonder about the lives she'd left behind in Los Angeles. Then she'd hope - pray - that everyone had found some sort of peace, some semblance of happiness.  
  
Chris had suggested the trip to Los Angeles, under orders from his boss to use up some of his paid time off, and having never been any farther west than Chicago. Although they'd been married for nearly six years, together for seven and a half, he knew little of his wife's life out there. He knew of her failed marriage, about how she'd originally gone to California to work for the CIA, to offer them the skills she had perfected in D.C. Something happened during her time there that caused her to leave the CIA, to eventually go into private practice and to divorce after less than six months of marriage.  
  
They landed in L.A. on a dry, warm day in late April. That was one of the few things she had missed from the West Coast, the dry warmth that it had, as opposed to the humidity that plagued the east. After waiting around the airport for nearly two hours, waiting for their luggage and cutting through complicated forms to rent a car, they were on their way. Checking into their hotel, they locked their belongings into the hotel room before they were back out the door.  
  
"I can't believe we're shopping," Chris muttered, following obediently behind his wife.   
  
Becky rolled her eyes in his direction and caught his smile. Back home Chris was a lawyer, working the majority of the time out of their home, and spending his free time playing sports, especially golf. Tall and lanky despite his nearly fifty years of age, he reminded her of what she imagined Brandon might have matured into. Still, when she'd first met his eyes and noticed his dimpled chin, he'd brought back memories of Michael. Although he combined the best things of the two men she had loved in her life, Chris was distinctly his own and she loved him for it.  
  
"We didn't bring any music. You know how I feel about music and cars. You can't drive around in silence, we need music," she explained, leading him through the aisles of Borders.   
  
"Could this place be any more dead?" he mumbled, looking around the nearly abandoned store.   
  
Lifting her eyes, Becky once again rolled her gray eyes in his direction. In a split second, she caught sight of a man at the end of the massive aisle of music, and Chris thought he heard his wife's jaw hit the floor.   
  
"Beck? What is it?" he whispered, stepping closer to her. "Are you feeling okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," she softly insisted. "I think that's Michael."  
  
"Vaughn?" Chris asked as she nodded.   
  
The man had a head full of hair that, while obviously had once been blonde, was growing progressively lighter and quickly approaching gray. In jeans and a suede jacket, inspecting what looked like the newest Springsteen's Greatest Hits CD, he hardly fit the image of the professional, uptight government agent he'd imagined his wife had once been married to.  
  
Silently, despite the random thoughts of curiosity and intrigue that floated through his mind, he followed her down the aisle, shifting the heavy bundle in his arms as he walked. Allowing her the space she needed, Chris made sure to stay within a few feet of his wife as she cautiously tapped the man's shoulder.  
  
"Yes?" H turned, breaking into a smile when he saw her there. "Becky! Hi!"   
  
"Michael! I thought it was you. How are you?"   
  
"I'm good," he smiled and looked up to see Chris.   
  
"I'm sorry," Becky smiled and looked behind her. "Michael, this is my husband, Chris Deveaux. That's our daughter, Amy."  
  
"It's nice to meet you, Michael shook Chris' hand. Turning his eyes on the little girl, she watched his eyes soften as he spoke softly, "She's beautiful."  
  
"She's almost five," she explained.   
  
"Five years." He looked obviously surprised. "It's been what now, ten years?"  
  
Becky nodded vigorously. "Just about. Amazing how fast it goes by, isn't it?" she grinned as he nodded. "How have you been?"  
  
"Well - " he started to answer.  
  
"Okay, I found it!" an exuberant voice rounded the corner and appeared at Michael's side. Slightly out of breath, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear, Sydney Bristow was just as beautiful as Becky remembered. Although her hair now had slight natural gray highlights, and the wrinkles had grown more prominent on her face, she looked happy. Judging by the way her right hand was tucked naturally through Vaughn's arm, and at the rings Becky had seen on her left hand as she pushed her hair back, she was very happy. "Becky! Hi!" she smiled.  
  
"Sydney! Hi! I was just asking Michael how things were," she explained. "It's good to see you."   
  
"It's nice to see you too," she nodded and looked curiously at Chris. Becky detected how her eyes too, seemed to soften slightly and her smile grow slightly smaller at the sight of a half-asleep Amy. "I'm sorry, this is my husband Chris Deveaux, this is Sydney Bristow -"  
  
"Vaughn, actually," Michael corrected. The light in his eyes reappeared as he smiled proudly at Sydney. "Sydney Vaughn."  
  
"Congratulations," Becky smiled. "How long now?"  
  
"Eight years," Sydney answered, the glow having reappeared on her cheeks. "Your daughter's beautiful," she quietly complimented.  
  
"Thank you," Chris replied. "Amy's almost five. Amy, why don't you say hi to Mommy's friends?" he softly suggested. Stubbornly, the little girl shook her head and dipped it back down into the nook of her father's neck. "Beck, I think I'm going to take her back to the car. She's getting heavy and cranky. Why don't you grab what you want and meet us back at the car," he suggested.  
  
"Okay honey," she agreed.  
  
"It was nice to meet the two of you," he smiled politely at the Vaughns. Silently, he apologized for not being able to shake hands, given the obvious use of his hands, and turned around.  
  
"Sydney, how is your father?"  
  
"Good," she smiled. "He's really doing well. Semi-retired; I'm not sure he'll ever fully retire."  
  
"Although Kendall's certainly trying to get him to," Vaughn mumbled as his wife laughed.  
  
"Kendall's trying, but I think my father's more stubborn," she explained.   
  
"I'm glad he's doing well. Are you still with the agency?"   
  
"Yes," she nodded. "Linguistics mostly, sometimes I consult. Enough to keep me busy."  
  
"And keep you firmly based in L.A.," her husband added.   
  
"The only reason he cares about that is because we have season tickets to the Kings," she grinned.  
  
"That's not true!" he bantered back, looking over at her. Her grin grew nearly foolishly big as she gently tugged his nose and then turned back to Becky.   
  
"You know what," Sydney spoke. "We have to be at Will and Elise's soon. I think I'll go pay for this and meet you at the car," she suggested. "It was nice to see you again Becky," she spoke sincerely at the woman who she hadn't seen in ten years. Still, she thought of Becky once in awhile, silently thanking her for the gift she had given back. Looking back on it, Michael never would have left her. It had been his then-wife's courage to walk away, that had brought them back together.  
  
"You too Sydney. You look very well. I'm glad things worked out the way they did."  
  
"Yeah," she smiled. "Me too," she agreed. Looking at her husband, she kissed him briefly, gently squeezing his arm and walked away.  
  
Alone for the first time in years, the former husband and wife shifted uncomfortably for a brief moment. "I'm happy for you Michael," she finally spoke.  
  
"You too. Chris looks like a good man."  
  
"He is," Becky agreed. "A great man," she nodded. "Will Tippin's married?"  
  
"Yeah," he chuckled. "For about seven years now. Elise, she's a writer. They're expecting their third child in a few weeks. We're heading to their place now."  
  
"How is everyone else?"   
  
"Good, they're good. Weiss is still single."  
  
"That's not surprising," she laughed.  
  
"He's got about a dozen godchildren though, lots of friends, he's always out," Vaughn explained. "Marshall and Carrie are doing good. They've got two kids now."  
  
"What did she end up having?"  
  
"A girl. Virginia Sydney Flinkman, she's ten now."  
  
"Amazing," she shook her head. "I'm glad they're doing well, they were always cute. How's your Mom?"  
  
"Good. In France at the moment, but good," he nodded.  
  
"How about the two of you? You two look very happy," Becky smiled.  
  
Vaughn's grin grew. "We are," he nodded.  
  
"Any kids?"  
  
Although she'd slightly expected it, she was still surprised to see him pull his eyes away and shake his head no. Shifting his footing, he wiped the bottom of his nose. With his eyes firmly planted on the tile floor, he answered. "No. We've tried... naturally, but we can't. Sydney can't, actually, not that it matters, because we're in it together. The doctors... We're trying to adopt."  
  
"Domestic?"  
  
"No, internationally. Russia, actually. Her mother suggested it."  
  
"Irina Derevko?" Her eyes widened. When he saw the _expression on his former wife's face, he grinned.  
  
"Yes. She killed Sloane."  
  
"Irina Derevko *killed* Arvin Sloane? Her *ally*?"  
  
"Apparently her alliances were flexible," he smirked. "Ten years ago now. Led us directly to a warehouse and killed him right in front of our eyes. Since she led us to Sloane, Sydney petitioned the court and had her life pardoned," he explained, growing serious.  
  
"How do you feel about that?" she asked, instinctively slipping into the mode of doctor.  
  
"She's Sydney's mother. She can never give me back my father, but if her death hurts Sydney, I'd move heaven and hell to stop it."  
  
"And kids?" Becky gently asked. One thing Michael had wanted when he'd entered their marriage, the one thing she thought he probably entered the marriage *for*, was his desire for children. Whether it was because he loved them or some masculine urge to carry on his legacy and his family name, it had always been a priority to him.   
  
"It's important to me," Vaughn agreed. "We both want children. Whether it's natural or not doesn't matter..." He looked towards the door where his wife had just left, presumably to wait for him in the car. "I might never have children to pass my name on to, but I get up every morning and go to bed every night with the woman I love. I don't always like every part of her Becky, but I love even the parts I don't like. Maybe that's enough, maybe loving someone that much is enough; maybe that means even more than having children. I've made my decision. If I'm going to be remembered for something, I'd rather it be a childless life with Sydney than a dozen children with any other woman in the world."  
  
Becky nodded as they softly said their goodbyes, wishing one another the best. As she walked through the aisles, towards the door, she imagined the life Michael and Sydney shared. The weeks and months they spent painstakingly building back what had once been so easy. The proposal that had come nearly three years after he'd first bought the ring. The small wedding with only their closest friends and family. How she'd sit in chilly rinks for countless hours during the winters, watching him play and then watching with him as the Kings played. The way her pain was his as they watched their friends easily reproduce, and how he'd hold her at night. In his arms, he'd hold out the demons and piece her together after another miscarriage. He'd stay there through the night, cradling her close and refusing to let her push him away. And how she, without question or hesitation, would do the same for him. How she'd sacrifice her life, her morals, everything else she'd ever known, before she'd sacrifice him.   
  
He was right.   
  
That was legacy enough for anyone. 


End file.
